


An Alliance Of Convenience

by AWomanOfLetters



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWomanOfLetters/pseuds/AWomanOfLetters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley has escaped from Lucifer and seeks refuge with the boys.  Together, they work on a plan to stop The Darkness, and trap Lucifer in The Cage again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"My mother is dead, I've been chained up like a frigging dog and been forced to wear a bloody _Hawaiian shirt_ and khakis, and now we have Lucifer running around God knows where. Wasn't the whole point of this exercise to get Lucifer's info on how to kill The Darkness? How the _bloody Hell_ do we do that now?"

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. Crowley's voice was acid as always. It had been so pleasant to not have him around. But he had somehow escaped Luci's grasp, found his way to the Bunker, and was now ensconced with them safely behind the spanking new super-sigils that he had learned from Delphine. He let a moment of sorrow for the brave French Woman of Letters pass through him. A wave of fear for Cas followed it. Then he rubbed his face with a hand, opened his eyes again, and glared at the King of Hell.

"Dude. I don't really give a fuck about all that. I want Lucifer outta Cas, and I want him slammed back in that damned Cage with no hopes of ever getting out. Now: any bright ideas on how to do that?"

Crowley gave him a sour look, lips pursed. "My _mother_ , Squirrel. Dead. Neck snapped in front of me." Sam, leaning back against one of the entryways with arms folded and a frown of smoldering hatred, shifted angrily, but said nothing.

"Yeah. Sorry. I guess. But you never struck me as the kinda guy who got sentimental, y'know?" Dean cocked an ironic eyebrow at the demon.

Crowley rolled his eyes and slugged back half the glass of scotch he was holding. "Sentimentalism has nothing to do with it, pet. Let me remind you that my mother was the only person on earth who knew how to open the Cage, or put people back into it. Your ambition to put Lucifer back in, while admirable, is now stymied." He returned the glass to the table with a solid thump. "I'd be more than happy to help you do _anything_ to that egotistical toddler archangelic asshole. But right now, I'm fresh out of ideas."

Sam bared his teeth. "Then why should we let you stay here? If you're not going to be any use...we should just toss you out."

Crowley leaned back in his chair, laid a hand on his heart, a look of exaggerated dismay on his face. "Moose, darling! You wound me! After all the things we've done together, meant to each other!"

Sam snarled and took a step forward.

"Okay, Sammy, enough," Dean said. "Cool it. I don't like it either, and God knows he's a pain in the ass, but underneath the smarmy exterior, he has a brain...and occasionally uses it." Crowley smirked and gave Dean a half-bow from his seat. "Ground rules, Crowley. No teasing Sam - "

"What?! That's half my reason for living, dammit!" Crowley protested. Dean gave him a stern look. Sam snorted darkly.

"No teasing Sam. No complaining about the food, or the quality of the scotch - "

Crowley eyed his glass and grimaced. "That's not scotch. It's wood alcohol _pretending_ to be scotch," he muttered. Dean held up a warning finger.

"No bitching about the scotch - which is _free_ , by the way! No mind games. Keep out of my room and Sam's room. No demon minions traipsing around. Help with the dishes. No...uh...no...Sam?" He turned to his brother for help. Sam shrugged.

"Whatever. Stay here, keep away from me, don't pull any tricks. I don't want you here, and I'll be glad to have an excuse to kick you out. Or kill you." With that, he moved away from his perch on the door jamb, shot another glare at Crowley, and stalked out of the room.

Dean pointed at Crowley again. "You - stay here!" He went after Sam and caught up with him near the kitchen.

Sam faced him, hands clenching into fists, then opening again. "Dude. What the hell? Crowley?! _Here_?!"

Dean heaved a deep breath, leaned against the hallway wall, and rubbed his neck. "Look. We need help. Powerful help. Crowley knows things, things that aren't in the lore gathered here. Besides...better the devil we know, y'know?"

Sam just looked at him, lips folded. Finally, he gave him a grudging nod.

* * *

 

Dean slid a plate in front of Sam, who was focused intently on his laptop, and another in front of Crowley. Crowley looked down and grimaced.

"What _is_ this?"

"Ah ah ah! No bitching, remember? Burger. Fries. Beer in the fridge."

"Beer," Crowley sniffed. He got up, went to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a scotch.

"So," Dean started, as he took a huge bite of his own burger. "So far, what we've got is a one-shot Hand of God that's outta juice - "

Crowley sat up straight. "Hand of God? Just what is that?"

Dean waved his beer, finished chewing, and said, "Piece of the Ark. Of the Covenant."

Crowley's eyes widened. "Really? How...how utterly Raiders of the Lost Ark." Sam's head lifted and he rolled his eyes, then returned to his laptop and his dinner.

Dean snickered. "Yeah, that's what _I_ said..."

"And it's out of juice? How did that happen?" He eyed his burger, sighed softly, and took a bite.

Dean gave him a quick rundown of the adventure in the submarine, how Delphine had somehow gotten it commandeered to take her and the artifact from France to the U.S., how the Thule had followed, how Lucifer-as-Cas had transported him back in time, how Delphine had used the Hand of God against the Germans to buy him some time. While he talked, he noticed, with some snarky satisfaction, that Crowley was eating his burger and, by all indications, enjoying it immensely.

"So, anyway, we get back here, Luci tosses us around some, takes the Hand of God, and...well, nothing. No glow-y power goodness. It's just a petrified piece of wood. Pretty, but useless. And then Sammy zapped him away with that angel-banishing sigil." He leaned back in his chair and twirled his beer bottle in circles on the table.

Crowley sipped his scotch with a thoughtful expression. "And you've tried it, too, I assume?"

"Yup. Nada."

"Hmm. You say this woman had that unusual sigil as a tattoo of some kind?" Dean nodded. "Has it occurred to you that you might need that tattoo to activate the artifact?"

Sam lifted his head again to stare at Crowley, face creased with a thoughtful frown. Dean stared, too. Finally, he said, lamely, "Uh. No."

Crowley smirked. "Well, now. Aren't you glad _someone_ with a modicum of brains has joined your merry team? Since you two seem to have lost whatever intelligence you may have once possessed?"

Dean let the insult slide as he chewed over the demon's suggestion. "So Delphine was wrong? Not just anyone can use the weapon?"

Crowley shrugged. "Oh, it's quite possible she was correct, that anyone mortal trying to use it would be fried. You win some, you lose some." He illustrated with a hand flipping over and back again. "The Men of Letters weren't all-knowing. Given the evidence, though..." He trailed off. Then he rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. "My suggestion: You and Moose, here, go get yourselves that sigil tattooed somewhere on your bodies - maybe on those nice firm asses," he leered. Dean scowled. Sam, surprisingly, snorted with amusement. "ASAP. Pronto. _Tout de suite_ \- " Dean flung up a hand to stop him.

"Yeah, yeah. We get your drift." He looked at Sam. Sam looked back and shrugged.

"It actually sounds like a good idea. Double-duty, too - if it keeps Lucifer out of places, maybe it'll hide us from him." Dean arched his eyebrows, impressed with the idea. Crowley snorted.

"It _is_ just a theory," he cautioned.

Dean glanced at him. "No, no - it sounds good. We'll do it tomorrow, right, Sam?" Sam nodded. "Okay, then! We have a plan!" He slapped his hand decisively on the tabletop and stood up, grabbing empty plates. "Hah. Liked the burger enough to actually eat it!" And with that parting shot at Crowley, he left the room.

Crowley made a face at his back.

* * *

 

Sam and Dean held ice packs to their shoulders. Crowley frowned. "Not on your asses. Damn. That would have been nice," he sighed. "Okay, then, boys, fish out your godly artifact and let's see if it works."

"What, like right now?!"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Crowley snarked. Dean opened his mouth for a quick rebuttal, realized he didn't have one, and snapped it shut. "Just so." Sam snorted, nodded at Dean, and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a small, aged wooden chest. He laid it carefully on the table, and the three of them looked down at it for a few moments.

"Doesn't look like much," Crowley observed. "Though I do see some faint remnants of warding sigils here and there. That's why you don't use wood, pets - rots away. And even if it doesn't, millennia of handling wears the surface away."

"Thanks for the mini-lecture, douchebag." Dean bit his lip, reached forward with a hesitant finger, touching the top gently. Then, bracing himself, he flipped the top open, reached in, and pulled out the wrapped artifact. "Ready?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Oh, for the love of heaven, just _do_ it!" Crowley snapped.

"Yeah, well. Nike slogans aside, it ain't _your_ hide that might get fried..." Dean muttered. He took a deep breath, unwrapped the ancient piece of wood, and gripped it in his bare hand.

It began to glow. Just a bit, at first, here and there, then brighter and brighter. Sam leaned forward with a soft sigh. Crowley watched with narrowed eyes. Then Dean grabbed the wrapping cloth and quickly dropped the wood back into it, folded the cloth around it, and dropped it back into the chest. He shook the hand that had held it and blew on it, then flexed it open and closed a few times and shook it out again. "Damn! All...tingly. Like pins and needles."

Crowley sat down slowly in a chair, keeping his eyes on the chest and chewing his lower lip. He folded his arms across his chest. "Sooo. We now have a weapon, it appears."

Sam hitched a hip up on the table, let his leg swing. "Okay. _Some_ of the power of God. But what Metatron said - "

Crowley snickered, and flicked a glance at him. "Metatron?! Is _that_ where you've been getting information from?! Seriously?!" Dean and Sam both frowned at him. "Oh, spare me. Metatron is a lying liar who lies, we all know that. But, do go on - what did he say?"

Sam's forehead wrinkled. He paused a moment to get her his thoughts, then went on slowly, "He said - and you're right, we know he lies and manipulates people - that God couldn't do it alone; he needed help from the archangels. So we have a weapon that has, like I said, _some_ of the power of God." He stopped, looked down, bit his lip. "What if it's not enough?"

They all mulled on that horrible question for a few moments. Then Dean sighed and said, "Well, hell. If it's not enough, we're screwed." Crowley barked out a laugh.

"Either way. We now need to move on to our next piece of preparation: a way to trap Lucifer, that smarmy, cocky dick, back in The Cage."

"Wait a minute," Dean said. "When you got here, you told us that Rowena was the only one - "

Crowley waved an impatient hand. "Yes, yes, blah blah blah. I've been thinking - "

" _That's_ always dangerous!"

Crowley glared at Dean and repeated, loudly, "I've been thinking. What we need is the Book of the Damned - which is where Mommy Dearest got the spell to open the Cage -the Codex, and someone to put it all together. So you two do know how to lay your hands on the book and the codex. Right?"

"Codex, yes. Book? No," Sam said. He pushed his hair out of his face and elaborated. "I think the last we saw of the Book...was in Hell, while Rowena was casting her spell."

"Well. Since I was planning to go get something from Hell anyway, we'll just add that to our shopping list."

"'Our' shopping list?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Why, yes, darling. I need all the help I can get to sneak into and out of Hell again." Crowley grinned at the two brothers.

"Awesome," was all Dean could say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio sneaks into Crowley's "castle" to get the Book of the Damned.

"Cas. I know you're still in there. I'm hoping you can hear my prayers. And I'm hoping that nobody's eavesdropping." That was, of course, a big gamble. If someone was listening in - say, Lucifer - then things were about to get really dicey. Dean ran his hand over the back of his head, stared at the collection of arcane weaponry on the wall, and braced his shoulders. "Well. Here goes. Cas, buddy, we're gonna be doing something tonight, something where we need Luci distracted for a couple of hours. If you can think of something - anything! - to keep him occupied, man, it'll really help us."

He stopped. Then, realizing that leaving it hanging like that was just inviting Cas to think he and Sam were just using him - dammit, what the fuck was wrong with him?! Didn't he know he was _family_?! - Dean added, "We're gonna get you out. Somehow." Without meaning to, he started venting his anger. "Dammit, Cas, how _could_ you?! How could you say yes to that douchebag?! We count on you! We _need_ you! _With_ us, not locked up in a meatsuit, and we _definitely_ didn't need Lucifer! We could have gotten on without him. Without you putting yourself in danger like this. And now..." He hung his head, clasped his hands behind it, and looked morosely down at the floor. "Well, now we've got yet another problem to solve. But we'll figure it out. We always do."

It was always awkward ending one of his prayers to Cas. He kept wanting to say the kind of inanities that end a phone conversation, or end with an "amen". It felt rude to just stop, but that's what he did. He sighed, looked back up.

"Well. Heart-rending," Crowley snarked. He swirled his glass of scotch and took a swallow. "Excuse me while I throw up a little."

"Thanks, douchebag number two. Always good to have an audience when I'm talking to the air," Dean snarked back. Crowley just grinned. Then he leaned forward over the floorplan of his asylum-cum-castle.

"So. Tonight. You and Moose go in this way - " He pointed to an entrance. " - Meanwhile, I sneak in another way - "

"Yeah. You're pretty close-mouthed about that 'other way'. Mind sharing?"

"Trade secret, kitten. Of course I won't share. Really!" the King of Hell smirked. "We both want to end up _here_." He tapped another spot. "Which is where the Book of the Damned was last stashed by yours truly. I assume Lucifer has no idea that it's there, and, with Rowena gone, isn't that concerned about it. And on the way, I'll pick up one or two other things that might help."

Dean grabbed his beer, leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table. "What would _help_ is having someone who can actually use the damned book," he groused, frowning at Crowley.

"I'm working on that, pet. Don't worry that pretty head of yours."

Dean grimaced. "Awesome. So. We've got the ark piece to smite Amara with, and we're getting - hopefully! - the book to get a spell to suck Luci back into his cage. Then all we need to do..."

Crowley gave him a tiny smile, propped his own feet on the table, and toasted him with his glass. "Then we use your...interesting...link with Amara to locate her, Sam uses the ark piece, and we're on to our second problem."

"You make it sound so simple..." Dean muttered. Then he took a swig of beer.

* * *

 

"Tell me again why we're helping him?" Sam hissed as they crept through the unkempt yard surrounding the abandoned asylum. He had his demon knife in hand; Dean's angel blade was still sheathed, as the blades tended to reflect the smallest amount of light. They reached the side entrance Crowley had marked for them, and Dean pulled out his lock-picking kit. Sam crouched down beside him, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs that they had been noticed. Dean worked on the lock quietly.

"Dude. Simple. We help him, he helps us," Dean murmured. A last twist of the second probe and the lock clicked open. He turned the knob carefully and eased the door open. He craned his head around the door, looking in all directions, before stepping in and motioning Sam along.

"Every time we make a deal with that bastard, he either gets more out of it than we do or else ends up double-crossing us." Sam's voice was low, but his frustration was obvious.

Dean grabbed his elbow and pulled him close. "Look, I get that you don't like him, don't trust him. But he's all we've got right now." He released him and reached in his jacket for the angel blade. "And right now, we need all the help we can get."

"So - what?! Do _you_ trust him?!" Sam was outraged. Dean rolled his eyes.

"About as far as I can throw him. This way." He pointed down the hallway to their right. They made their way quietly to the next corridor intersecting theirs and peered around the corner. There were two demons in suits walking towards them, exchanging tidbits of demon gossip. Dean pointed at one, lifted his eyebrows at Sam, who nodded. They waited until the demons were almost at the intersection, then moved forward swiftly, blades at the ready. Demon and angel weapons sank into throats at almost the same instant, each brother easing his victim to the floor and back around the corner even as the red sizzle of demon death flared around the heads. Then they were up again, around the corner and heading down the new corridor. They stopped at a set of heavy, ancient-looking oak doors. Dean tried the door while Sam kept watch; it opened easily, the hinges well-oiled and quiet. They slipped into the room, which was the throne room. It was empty, eerily deserted.

"This is too easy," Sam fretted. Dean frowned thoughtfully, slid a look at him.

"Yeah. Where's the horde of demons? You'd think they'd have the place on high alert with Luci in the house..."

Deep furrows lined Sam's forehead. Finally, he bit his lips, shook his head, and stepped forward. "Well, let's enjoy the quiet while we can," he muttered.

Dean looked around as they headed to the door at the back, to the side of the throne. "Sheesh. Right out of a swashbuckling movie. Y'know, the kind with Errol Flynn? Robin Hood! That's the one I'm thinking of - Claude Rains as Prince John, lounging on the throne..." Sam gave him an incredulous look. Dean responded defensively, "Hey! All those times Dad left us alone when we were kids? Old movies on Sunday afternoons?" He pushed open the door. "Maybe you were too young to remember."

"Hello, boys!"

They stopped in the doorway. Crowley was lounging in a gaudy chair at the end of a dark wooden table. The Book of the Damned sat on the table before him, and he was idly petting a hamster sitting on his chest.

"Dude! What the hell?! You already got the thing - what'd you need _us_ for?!" Dean said, injured.

Crowley waved a languid hand in the air. "Insurance, pets. Distraction. The idea was that my minions would be so busy with you bumbles making your way through the premises that I would be able to sneak in, unnoticed." He gave them a sour look. "All that lovely planning. For nothing. Did _you_ see any demons?"

Sam leaned on the door jamb, folding his arms and glaring. "Two. That's all. Killed them. So we were supposed to - what - get swamped with demons? They could have killed us providing your distraction!"

"Tch, Moose. Nothing like that happened, eh? Everyone's fine and dandy, and we have what we came here for, no need to get huffy. Though I _would_ like to know where everyone is..." He looked down at the hamster, crooned at it, and rubbed its head, then looked back at them. "This place is usually crawling with staff. Though, considering the way Luci was looking at them, he may just have killed them all. After I had gotten them halfway trained, too." He sighed.

Dean eyed the hamster suspiciously. "Tell me why you've got the livestock, there. Was that the 'one or two other things' you were talking about?"

Crowley smiled at the hamster and kissed the air at it. "Oh, I got some other things. But I was missing Ollie here. Very much." He cupped a protective hand over Ollie. "She might have been _killed_!"

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched and he glared at the demon. "Right. Great. Can we leave now? Now that you've got...everything...you came for?"

"Yes, yes, Squirrel, always so impatient!" Crowley rolled his eyes, stood up, and placed the hamster in his jacket pocket. "Now, now, Ollie, just relax and curl up in there, pet. We're taking you away from all of this...boredom." He swept the room with a glance, pursed his lips, and made a sweeping gesture to the door. "Shall, we, boys?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's hamster has a secret, and Crowley introduces the boys to another Hand of God.

When they were safe in the car, driving away, Crowley leaned forward and poked his head over the front seat. He tapped Dean on the shoulder. "While we're in the car, Squirrel, mind if we make a small detour?"

Dean eyed him in the rear-view mirror. "Sure, yeah, anything you say, Your Highness. Want some champagne, too? Maybe a stop to pick up some steaks?" Sam snickered.

Crowley tapped the seat back. "While I'm pleased you're actually acknowledging my kingly status - "

Dean sighed. "Ever heard of sarcasm?"

Crowley let it slide. "Turn here, take Route 20 north for thirty-three miles. Steaks and champagne we'll save for the celebration when this idiotic mess is fixed." With that, he leaned back, settled himself, closed his eyes, and for all the world looked as if he were taking a nap.

Sam threw a glance back at him, then fumed, "Dean. We're not really going to go out of our way like this, are we?" Dean shrugged.

"Got anywhere special to be right away? Might as well."

* * *

 

An hour later, they sat in the car waiting for Crowley to return from his storage rental. Sam slouched down against the passenger door, eyes closed. Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The hamster - Ollie - scuttled around the back seat, making indistinct chirping noises. Dean had threatened Crowley with all manner of mayhem when he pulled the hamster out of his pocket as he was leaving, the main complaint being hamster turds and pee in his beloved Baby. Crowley had just smiled, cooed at Ollie, shut the door and strode off.

So. Waiting. Dean sighed. Without opening his eyes, Sam said, "You could always have gone with him."

"Yeah, yeah...and listened to him being all douchey while he talked up his treasures? No, thanks." A movement at the edge of the dimly lit parking lot made him take notice and sit up straight. "Speak of the devil..."

Crowley opened the door, slid awkwardly into the back seat, maneuvering a long wooden box in with him. After getting settled, he scooped Ollie back up and stuffed her in his pocket. Then he tapped the seat back. "Back to the bat cave, boys. _Andale_. Vamoose. Let's go. I don't trust even the most loyal of my minions to have kept this little secret.; Luci could have watchers."

Sam eyed the long box with suspicion. "So what's in the box, Crowley?"

Crowley gave him a thin smile as he stroked the ancient wood with a possessive hand. "All in good time, Moose. All in good time."

Sam folded his lips in frustration and rubbed his fist up and down his thigh. Dean, ignoring the byplay, turned the ignition and peeled out of the lot, turning on the radio to his favorite classic rock station. Crowley shuddered and winced as Dean started singing along to "White Wedding", off-key.

* * *

 

Dean emerged from the kitchen into the common room carrying two bottles of beer. He handed one off to Sam, who took it, nodded his thanks, then popped the top off. Crowley had badgered them into stopping at a liquor store on the way back; there were now three bottles of the best single-malt scotch he could find in the wilds of northern Kansas stored in the liquor cabinet. He lounged in one of the chairs at the table, glass in hand, narrowed eyes sliding between the long box, the Book of the Damned, the Codex, and his hamster alike. Ollie was hunkered down on the table, chewing on hamster treats and making a mess.

Dean shot the creature a dour look. "Dude. Don't you have a cage or something for that thing?"

The hamster stopped its chewing and glared at him, almost as if it had understood. Sam reached out and started scratching its head. "Oh, I dunno, Dean. It's kind of nice to have a pet around." The hamster had been leaning into his hand for the scratches, but pulled back and transferred its glare to Sam.

Crowley sat up, thumped his glass on the table, and announced, "Ollie is not a pet. Ollie is our key to defeating Lucifer."

Dean and Sam just stared at the hamster, then at Crowley.

"I could swear you just said that critter is the key to stopping Luci. Tell me I didn't hear that right," Dean said, his voice strained. Crowley said nothing, but opened the Book. The hamster scampered up onto the pages, snuffling up and down, nose close to the writing. She squeaked, jumped off, and Crowley turned the page. "Crowley..." Dean's voice rose.

"Hmmm?" Crowley murmured. His attention was locked on the hamster.

Dean slammed a fist down on the open book. " _Crowley_!" he barked. Ollie screeched and skittered backward to the shelter of Sam's hand, where she crouched down, shivering. "Answers. Now." He pointed to the box. "What's in the box?" He swept a hand at Ollie. "What's with the hamster?" He moved to stand looming above the demon. "Talk."

Crowley heaved an exasperated sigh and leaned back in the chair again. He took a sip of his scotch, put it back down, and stood up, ignoring Dean's intimidating presence. He strolled down the side of the table and posed for a moment with his hand smoothing the top of the box. He tapped it with a finger, then opened it. Sam got up from his chair, leaning across the table to peer in. Dean moved closer.

It looked like a hiking stick. Nothing special. Dean gave it a quizzical look, then turned his attention to Crowley, drawing in a breath to speak. Crowley held up a hand to forestall what he was about to say. "'And Aaron cast down his rod before Pharaoh, and before his servants, and it became a serpent.' Exodus, chapter seven, verse ten. What you see here, boys, is Aaron's Rod. One of many treasures I've gathered over the years." He added, with a dark look at them, "And trust me, when this is all over, that storage locker will be emptied out and all my other special items transferred someplace far, far away. So don't even think of trying anything." His hooded eyes glittered at Dean, who held up placating hands, palms out.

"Okay, we get your drift." He made a mental note to slip away with Sam the first chance they had, to rummage through that locker.

"Anyway." Crowley looked down at the rod. "It is, as you might suspect, a Hand of God. Why have just one Hand of God on - erm - hand, as it were, when you could have two? So." He flicked up an ironic eyebrow and leered. "Think you boys are men enough to handle Aaron's Rod?" Dean rolled his eyes at the double entendre. He chewed his lips for a moment, then glanced at Sam with a questioning look.

Sam stared down at the rod, eyes awed. He reached toward it with a hesitant hand, but Crowley blocked him with his arm. "Ah ah ah! Steady there, Moose! I know you'd like to get your hands on my rod - " He leered again. " - but I do think perhaps we should wait."

Sam frowned at him, deep wrinkles forming on his forehead. After a moment, though, he withdrew his hand and nodded sharply at the demon. "Aaron's Rod..." he breathed. "How - how did you - "

Crowley smirked. "Another trade secret, darling. I've had it locked up for quite a while, just in case. In the meantime, look, but don't touch." He flipped the lid closed and rested his hand on it again.

"Okay. That's item one in my question list. Now. About your damned hamster that's skittering around our table...?" Dean prompted. The hamster in question was back on the book, repeating her nose-to-page sniffing. Crowley sauntered back to his chair, pausing to scoop Ollie up and air-kiss her again.

"Ollie?" His smile was wide and smug. "Do allow me to introduce you two to Olivette, the leader of the Grand Coven."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Olivette, the hamster, find the spell and translate it. But one ingredient may prove hard to find.

Dean and Sam stared at the hamster, which Crowley had placed back on the table. She crouched down nibbling on another hamster treat she had snagged as soon as he put her down. Dean scratched his head, gave his brother a quizzical look, then muttered, "Damn. Sure doesn't look like much." The hamster paused her nibbling, peered up at him, and chittered. "Are you _sure_?"

Crowley heaved an exasperated sigh. "Darling. I was there when the transformation went down. Mother was impossible to live with for a week, she was so smug." He paused, thought a moment, then added, "Well. _More_ impossible to live with." He tapped the open book with a finger, and Ollie scuttled over, crept up onto the book, and began her sniffing examination again.

Dean dropped into a chair, plopped his beer on the table, and watched the process with a skeptical look. "Look. Uh. Crowley, not that I doubt you or anything - " Sam settled into the chair next to him, snorting. " - but. Uh. So she was the leader of the Grand Coven. That was then, when she was...um...human, y'know? What use is she like this?" He waved a hand at Ollie, who had stopped and was now crouched up, grooming herself with her tiny paws darting around her ears and whiskers.

Crowley sipped his scotch and regarded the hamster with hooded eyes. "Oh, not to worry, Squirrel," he murmured. "My mother was just about to step on her like a rat - " Ollie's head darted to him, she paused her grooming, and she screeched. "Yes, yes, pet, I know," he crooned. "We put a stop to that right away, didn't we, little one! Yes, we did!" Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't think he could take this sickly sweet, cooing Crowley. It was...unnatural, dammit! Crowley's eyes flicked up to meet his. "So Olivette here owes me."

Dean swigged from his bottle, then pointed the neck at the demon. "Great. Dandy. So you've got a hamster who's in debt to you. Big whoop, dude. It's still a hamster."

It was Crowley's turn to roll his eyes. "You are a Philistine. You have no sense of drama. Or justice. It so happens that stuffed into that little hamster brain is all of Olivette's...extensive...knowledge of witchcraft." His grin was all teeth. "And it also happens that yours truly - " He gestured at himself with his glass. " - knows how to understand hamster speech. Ollie finds us the spell, she works with the Codex to interpret it, she tells me, and _voila_ , we have the means to return Luci to the Cage. A highly desirable result. All because I had the forethought to keep Mother Dearest from squashing her like a bug." He dipped a small bow in the chair and flourished a hand, as if expecting applause.

Dean turned the thought over in his head. Okay, it seemed plausible. But...

As he drew in a breath to speak, Sam got there first. He had been watching Ollie with a distracted smile while listening, and now he looked at Crowley. "Wouldn't it be simpler to just transform her back?" he asked with a small frown. Dean pointed a finger at him.

"Point. Good point. Just what I was gonna ask. Seems kind of roundabout."

Crowley rubbed his nose and looked up at the common room's ceiling. "Ah. Yes. It would be." He looked back at the boys. "Much simpler. Alas. I don't know how."

Dean gave him a blank look. "Don't know how? Dude. Don't give us that. You're the King of Hell. Of _course_ you know how." Sam nodded agreement, lips folded.

Crowley snorted and took an irritated sip of his scotch. "I'm a demon, Squirrel, not a witch. I don't know everything." It was obvious just how much it pained him to admit it. "I know some basic witchery, learned it at Mother's feet as a wee lad. But do remember, she abandoned me at age eight...she had hundreds of years to perfect her knowledge...time I spent moving up the ranks of demonhood. We are, unfortunately, stuck with Ollie as she is, which means it will be a slow process. One which only I can do, what's worse." He grimaced, glanced at Ollie, who had taken to scuttling around the table again, and frowned at her. He tapped the book again. "Come, come, Ollie, back to work."

* * *

 

It took days. First, Ollie had to decide which spell to translate, with no guarantees, Crowley warned them, that it would be the correct spell. He said they might translate half of it, only to realize it wasn't. Then Crowley and the hamster dug into the Codex, decoding the spell Ollie had chosen. It was a slow, laborious process, with starts and stops, here and there a few hours spent tracking through the Codex only to discover they had mis-translated, then back tracking. Crowley grumbled, muttered, cursed, scribbled translations on a legal pad, scratched them out, threw things, and drank a lot of scotch. Ollie, hamster-like, needed numerous breaks to sleep, to run in the hamster wheel in the cage that Sam had driven into town to get for her, and she ate constantly.

Dean and Sam traded off hanging out in the common room with demon and hamster, ready to help when needed, but mostly keeping a wary eye out for any possible betrayal. Dean passed the time babysitting him by cleaning weapons, Sam by searching through the accumulated Men of Letters lore.

Much to Crowley's irritation, Ollie took a shine to Sam, and spent much of her free time cuddled up on his chest while he idly ran a gentle finger down her back, or scratched at her tiny ears. He would watch this performance with lips folded tightly together, sniffing at the perceived betrayal. "After all, _I_ was the one who saved her!" He grumbled to Dean once.

Dean snorted. "Poor baby." Crowley looked all injured innocence. "Aw, c'mon, man. You did it because you thought she'd be useful, not out of the kindness of your heart!"

"I _never_!" He laid a protesting hand over the item in question. "She's adorable! I couldn't stand the idea of all that cuteness turned into a bloody stain on my carpet!"

"Whatever. She likes Sammy. Deal."

But after all off the theatrics, there came a day when Crowley tossed the pen down, picked up the pad, read through the translation with narrowed eyes, and announced they had succeeded. He pulled out a handful of treats for Ollie as a reward. Sam, who was on duty, looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"All done? Great. Yo, Dean!" Dean didn't respond; he was curled up in an armchair watching Netflix with his earbuds in. Sam wadded up a piece of paper and tossed it at him.

Dean looked up. "Hunh?" Sam pantomimed removing the earbuds, and Dean complied.

"Done," Sam said, urging him over with a jerk of his head. Dean dropped his tablet on the table and headed over.

Crowley pushed the pages across the table at them. "We do have a slight problem with the ingredients, though," he said. Dean flicked an enquiring eyebrow at him. Crowley sighed, leaned back, and shoved his hands in his pockets with a sour expression. "Let's see...Sandalwood, myrrh, grains of paradise, chaga- these are all easy enough. Three freshly killed baby mice - "

"We can get those from the pet store," Sam murmured. "Though it feels different to kill them, rather than feed them to snakes..." Crowley slid a look at him, shrugged, and returned to the recipe.

"Not much difference, Moose. The end result is the same." Sam looked like he was going to protest, but Crowley held up a hand. "Ahem. To continue. One raven skull. An angel feather." He glanced up at Dean. "We've done that one before, there should be plenty in the right places, what with all those moronic angel fights. But then comes the kicker, boys." He paused to make sure he had their attention, and dropped the papers back on the table with an air of finality.

"Angel Grace."

He leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the table, laced his hands behind his head, and waited. His words seemed to hang in the air. Dean's jaw dropped. Sam made an abrupt movement, opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned.

"Any great ideas?" Crowley asked.

Dean just shook his head, sinking down into a chair. "Well, shit," he said, his shoulders slumping.

"My feelings exactly," Crowley agreed, puffing his cheeks out, then huffing out his breath in a burst of irritation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio are stumped as to where to get angel Grace.

He thought about it while slicing off a vampire's head. Staking a ghoul and burying it with Sam's help, he kept his mouth shut, but rolled the question around in his mind. Cooking up spinach omelets for breakfast, he chewed away at the problem. Everywhere he went, part of him focused on it.

Angel Grace.

They needed it. Their normal source, the one they would have turned to in an instant under any other circumstance, was the reason they needed it. So not only did the question of _where_ to get it gnaw at him, the _why_ gnawed, too. Lucifer was riding Cas. He knew Cas was still in there; Sam's experience proved it. And since he knew Cas was there, he knew Cas was suffering. Luci would dig at any nerve he could, and it seemed Cas had a lot of stuff he had kept quiet about.

_Don't think about that._

What good was it if they knocked Amara out with their two Hands of God, if they still had Lucifer running around causing mayhem? And Cas was still trapped?

Dean tossed the spatula down on the counter and growled. "Son of a bitch! This is going _nowhere_!" Sam, seated at the table absorbed in yet another book of lore, raised his head at the clatter and the snarl.

"Hmmm?"

Dean kicked a chair away from the table and dropped into it. "Grace. Where the fuck do we get Grace? All the angels we know are dead, except Cas. Anna. Samandriel. Hannah. Gadreel. Hell, even the real dicks like Uriel, Zachariah - they're dead, too!" He slammed a fist on the table and the salt and pepper shakers danced. He glared at them, wishing they would come to life and deliver him an answer.

Sam sat back with a sigh, running his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "Yeah." His voice was glum. "I've been trying to come up with a name, _any_ name. Nothing."

They both gazed into space. It comforted Dean, just a little bit, to know that Sam was struggling with it, too.

"Where's our douchebag?" he gritted out. Crowley had taken to hanging out mostly in the bedroom they had assigned him. Dean had commented one day on his lack of sociability, and the erstwhile King had snarled at him and then whined about being bored.

Sam shrugged. "His room?" Dean rolled his eyes, then the slightest whiff of overdone eggs hit his nose, and he surged up, back to his omelet.

"Go dig him up. Breakfast." Dean switched off the gas, glared at his omelet, then stabbed it with the spatula.

* * *

 It was a dispirited trio that sat around the table. Sam, usually fond of Dean's spinach omelets, poked at his portion with a fork, pushing it around the plate. Dean stuffed forkfuls in his mouth and chewed mechanically. Crowley slumped in his chair and didn't bother trying to eat. Dean would almost call his expression a pout. Maybe just sullen? Whatever - Dean was getting worried about the demon, who sat like a lump, morose and uncommunicative. It was out of character. He hated to admit it, but he missed the snark, the arrogance, the soaring self-confidence that were Crowley's hallmark.

His eyes slid from moping Crowley to listless Sam, then back again.

_Not good. We're giving up before we've even started._

He threw his fork down with a metallic clang. "Okay. That's it. Fuck this shit." Sam jerked his eyes away from his plate at the sound and Crowley jumped. "Let's get our heads out of our asses. Brainstorm. C'mon, guys, _ideas_!" He snapped his fingers a couple of times.

Crowley slid back into his slouch, shrugging, mouth twisting in a cynical grimace. "Eh. What's the use, Squirrel? The spell requires angel Grace. We don't have any. Ergo, we can't do the spell." He tucked his head down into his collar, shoulders hunched. "Might as well get used to the idea, pet. We're screwed. Whether it's the Darkness or Lucifer. Royally screwed."

Dean's jaw dropped. " _Listen_ to yourself! You're - you're _worse_ than you were as a junkie! At least _then_ you had an excuse!" Crowley bared his teeth at him, but said nothing. "Goddammit, you're the motherfucking _King of Hell_! Are you gonna let that dick just smarm his way in, take over your turf, do nothing?!" Crowley growled low in his throat, and a spark of red flared in his eyes.

_Good. Poke him some more._

Sam saw the spark too, and stirred, disturbed. "Uh, Dean..." he said in warning. Dean waved him down.

"Naw, look at him, Sam! He's _pathetic_!" Dean stood up, strode over, and loomed above the huddled demon. "Damn. You're gonna sit here, safe and snug in our bunker, complaining about being _bored_ , like you're back to being that damn whiny little tailor willing to sell his soul for a few stupid - " He was on a roll, now, ready to rant, but Crowley straightened, eyes flaming red, and waved a hand to smash him up against the wall.

Now it was his turn for a warning from Sam, who surged from his own chair: "Crowley! You do _anything_ \- "

The demon waved his hand again, silencing Sam and slamming him back in his seat. He rose from his chair and stalked over to Dean, mouth twisted in a feral grin, snarling, "I. Am. The. _King. Of. HELL!_ " He ended with a roar.

Dean, pinned awkwardly to the wall with his head jammed sideways, gritted out, "Then _act_ like it, dammit! Quit moping!" Crowley stopped a foot away from him, hand raised and poised for a command snap. He narrowed his eyes at him and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, thinking. Then his grim expression morphed into an amused smile, he snapped his fingers, and Dean was released to slide down the wall into a heap.

"Squirrel, not only have you yanked me out of my morass of self-pity, but you have given me an inkling of an idea." Dean twisted his head to look up at him, eyebrows raised.

"No kidding?"

Crowley leaned down and held out a hand to pull him to his feet. "No kidding, pet."

Dean stood up, rolling his head to unkink his neck and flexing the arm that had been pinned between him and the wall. "Care to share?"

Crowley smirked, brushed lint off his jacket arm, and assumed a pose, legs wide and shoulders braced. "The accusation of being...erm...'pathetic', 'whiny', and 'moping' is what did it."

Sam moved his mouth to say something, but words didn't come out. His forehead wrinkled in a deep frown, and he glared at Crowley. Crowley snickered and waved his hand again. Sam's voice became audible in the middle of his sentence. " - help me God, Crowley - !" He snapped his mouth shut, ground his teeth, then drew in a deep breath and began again. "Spill. What's your great idea?"

Crowley flung his arms wide in a grand gesture.. "Metatron."

The brothers both grimaced and looked skeptical. Crowley waited for a response. When the silence grew too loud, he frowned. "What?!"

Dean slung a hip onto the table, cocked his head, and snorted. "Well. The description fits, that's for sure. We're talking the same guy here, right? Yay high?" He held his hand up to the middle of his chest. "Furry? Dresses like a hobo? Delusions of grandeur? _Killed_ me? _That_ Metatron?" Crowley impatiently waved away his objections.

"Darling, of course I remember that he killed you! My bestie! How could I forget?!" He leered and wagged his eyebrows, one hand hovering near his heart.

Sam glowered. "Summer of love, remember, Dean?" he muttered. Dean blushed and flicked a glance at him; for some reason, that whole episode rankled his brother, and he wasn't quite sure why. Aside from him being a demon, of course. And palling around with Crowley. (He wasn't going to follow _that_ little path down memory lane, thank you very much!) And, okay, stalking Sammy through the bunker and trying to kill him had been a bit much. But that hadn't been _him_.

Feeling like the conversation was slipping out of control, and _really_ not liking where those memories led, Dean grasped at the topic again. "Whatever. Metadouche's just human now, and as smarmy and scummy as he ever was, if not more so. How's that little toad gonna get us some Grace?"

Crowley waved a nonchalant hand, brushing the objection off. "We'll figure something out. He must know all the angels in Heaven, surely? And at least one of them might be willing to wheel and deal with us, eh?" He smiled brightly at them, arching his eyebrows. "I seem to recall that Castiel had some sort of run-in with him recently?"

Dean folded his lips and snorted.

_Oh, this is gonna be fun. Right._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Crowley pay a visit to Metatron.

A key turned in the lock. They could hear fussy muttering and the sound of rustling bags. The door opened, and Metatron stood silhouetted against the hall lighting, shoulders slumped and head drooping.

"Another day, another video. Another night in this squalid dump. I could have been great, but, _noooo_ , here I am, scrounging for pennies. Bah." He shuffled into the dark apartment, dropping bags as he went, muttering indistinctly. He reached behind him with a foot to drag the door closed, reaching for the light switch on the wall.

His foot didn't find the door; Sam, who had moved to the wall behind it at the first sound of the key, had pushed it closed. At the same time, Metatron's reach for the light switch faltered when he heard the click of a lamp being turned on. The light from the lamp revealed Crowley sitting with one hip hitched up on the former angel's messy desk; one leg was swinging gently, and Crowley's bared teeth and narrowed eyes gleamed in the dim light. Metatron stopped, and his eyes darted from the fearsome figure of the King of Hell to the equally fearsome figure of Dean, standing by the desk with arms folded and head tilted slightly back, a mildly interested look on his face.

" _Ooohhhh_ , no!" Metatron whimpered in denial, shaking his head, curls bouncing. He took a step back and turned around to flee the apartment, only to find Sam leaning against the closed door, a sardonic expression smile peeping out. He inched back around to face Crowley and Dean, tugging at the hem of his dirty hoodie.

"Going somewhere, darling?" Crowley purred. "No, no, don't go, pet! We just want a little chat, right, boys?" Dean moved closer to him, and Sam stood straight, took a step forward, and loomed over Metatron menacingly.

"Oh, right, a 'little chat'!" The mousy man whined, and mimed air quotes. " _I_ know what your 'little chats' are like, you goons!" He darted a fearful look around the dim room. "Where's your enforcer, Asstiel?" He emphasized the 'ass'. "Gonna beat _more_ info out of me?! Typical!" he snorted. His voice rose. "Well, you're not gonna get any more out of me!" he blustered. "Your punk angel boyfriend beat me to a pulp last time, and got everything! _Everything_! So just - just _go away_ and leave me alone!" His voice cracked, and he wet his lips, eyes flicking from one to the next.

They all just listened, not saying a word. Crowley's leg kept swinging like a slow metronome, and Metatron's eyes kept returning to it. "What - what do you _want_?!" he whimpered, backing away in the only direction he could. He bumped into his cheap laminate dining table, stumbled, whirled around to see what was blocking him, and then whirled back. " _Say_ something!"

"Just a chat," Dean broke the silence. Sam shifted.

"We could always talk to him about, oh, _killing_ you..." He took a step forward, hands balled into fists at his side.

Metatron held out his own hands in defense, shaking his head. "Now, now, I can _explain_ that! I can! I was under a _lot_ of stress - being God _does_ things to you!" He was sweating.

"Or about lying to us and Cas, over and over again," Dean mused, also stepping forward.

"B - b - but - " he stammered.

Crowley stood up and strolled closer. "Stealing the Demon Tablet..." he murmured, eyes glittering.

"Oh, now, that's not _fair_! _Really_!" Metatron pouted. " _I'm_ the one who wrote down all those tablets - I worked _hard_! You have no _idea_ what it's like - !" He rolled his eyes in self pity, emphasizing it with a head roll. Crowley's hand shot out and closed over his arm, hard, then twisted, forcing him to his knees.

" _OW_!" Metatron yelped, cringing and looking injured. "That _hurt_!" His lips quivered, and his sad hound dog eyes looked like he was about to cry.

"But darling, we really only want some names," Crowley murmured, releasing him. By now, all three men were standing only a few feet from Metatron, oozing menace.

"And locations," Sam added thoughtfully, lips pursed and head tilted to look at the ceiling. He rocked back and forth on his feet.

"We need Angel Grace, Metadouche," Dean finished. He flexed a hand into a fist, looked down at it, then back at the former angel, and smiled. "Tell us where to find some. Then we're outta your hair."

Metatron's eyes brightened with interest. "Angel Grace? What, Asstiel lose his _again_?" he sneered. He flinched back against the table at the sudden movement Dean made, the snarl that came from his lips. "All right, all _right_ , Jeez, _relax_! Touchy, _touchy_! Memo to self: don't poke at the elder Winchester about his lover." Dean twitched again, and Metatron quickly added, "So what do you want it for?"

Crowley's eyes slid to Dean, and he quirked up an inquiring eyebrow. Dean nodded. "Not that you need to know, you pathetic worm," Crowley said, "but we need it to banish Lucifer back to his Cage."

Metatron's jaw dropped. " _Lucifer_?! You crazies let Lucifer out - _again_?! Oh my God - and you call _me_ an idiot?!"

"Moron, actually," Crowley murmured, simpering. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, come on! Names. Locations. _NOW_!" he roared. Metatron flinched another time, but stuck his lower lip out. He radiated stubbornness. Crowley sighed, examined the fingernails of one hand, and drawled, "Of course, I could always set my dogs here on you..." He waved his hand at Sam and Dean. Sam growled; Metatron had no way to know that he was growling at being called Crowley's dog.

"Okay, _okay_! No need to be so _pissy_ about it!"

* * *

 

On the way back to the Impala, Dean grinned. "That was fun. We should do it again!"

Sam grimaced. "Gah. It made me feel dirty, dealing with that weasel." He shook his hands, as if flinging mud off them.

"You'll note, Squirrel, _mon amour,_ that we were able to get everything we wanted from him without resorting to violence," Crowley said with a smirk. "Always a joy to play upon your victim's fears like a violin." He sighed with pleasure. "I should use you two as heavies more often."

Dean side-eyed him. "Dude. Don't have an orgasm. And we're not your heavies." He pulled open the driver's door, then leaned a forearm on Baby's frame. "I gotta say, though, I really, _really_ wanted to beat him to a pulp," he added wistfully. He slapped the roof of the car. "Hop in, dudes. Let's go get us some Grace!" He slid in, turned on the car, slapped the radio on, and started singing along with Bad Company.

Crowley, getting into the back seat, closed his eyes and shuddered. "Please. Let's not do karaoke in the car."

Dean grinned again, turned up the radio, and sang louder. Crowley hunched down and glowered at him through the rear-view mirror.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio try persuading an angel to help with their plan.

Jehuel had vivid red hair. Startlingly red hair. Dean thought, if he could hold his hands next to the trapped angel's head, he would feel heat reaching out from the angel's locks, licking around his fingers, burning them. Appropriate, considering he was an angel of fire. Aside from that, he was tall, lank, had a lean face, hooked nose, graceful hands, and an attitude.

Jehuel was, put simply, furious.

He had reason; they had summoned him specifically, and he was trapped in the standard ring of holy fire. Maybe they should have just prayed to him, after all? They had batted the idea around. But the possibility of that prayer being broadcast on angel radio, where Lucifer could hear it, had put the kibosh on it. They couldn't risk it.

Jehuel's eyes traveled from Dean, to Sam, then rested on Crowley. He drew in a hissing breath between clenched teeth, and returned his gaze to Dean.

"Winchesters." His voice held an eternity of contempt. "Consorting with the King of Hell. Of course." He sneered, then his eyes blazed blue-white, his fiery wings appeared spread behind him, and he thundered, " _Release me_!" The Bunker shook, weapons on the walls shaking, and Dean had to bend down to retrieve the Spear of Destiny, which had shuddered off its hooks and fallen to the floor with a rattle and clatter that echoed through the common room. He put it carefully back into position, then turned back to face the raging angel with a sigh.

"Look. We know you're like the rest of the junkless dicks, hate us with a passion. 'S'okay, we get it, really - " Jehuel seemed to swell with fury, his focus pinning Dean down. Without intending it, Dean's hand crept to his collar, tugged at it. He remembered what Cas had been like, at first: distant, cold, powerful, regarding humanity as tools to be used without a second thought. He had gotten used to angels since then, or so he had thought. But this blaze of fury...well. It was intimidating.

"Ahem," Crowley coughed genteelly behind a hand. "Allow me, Squirrel. Calling them dicks when asking a favor seems...undiplomatic, at the least." Jehuel's attention shifted to him. Dean sagged, just a bit, in relief, and his eyes met Sam's, which were wide. "Ahem. Most esteemed angel Jehuel, we brought you here to - "

"I have nothing to say to you, abomination!" The angel's voice was quiet, but the Bunker shook again. Crowley folded his lips, tilted his head back, and shot him a look from under suddenly half-lidded eyes; he did do haughty quite well, one had to admit.

"You may not have anything to say, but _we_ \- " Crowley's gesture included Sam and Dean. " - do. It may have escaped your notice - " his voice dripped acid, " - but The Darkness is loose, and so is your whiny big brother, Lucifer, _and_ he has a vessel."

Jehuel stood still, stiff. Crowley gave him a tiny, lopsided smile.

"Yes, I thought that might pique your interest."

Jehuel's eyes drilled into him. "Lucifer? How did _that_ happen?"

Crowley waved the question aside. "How is beside the point. The point is that he walks topside now. Now. You and your fellow winged worker bees tried to smash Amara." He pursed his lips. "Do tell me how that worked?" Jehuel's jaw worked. Crowley smiled widely. "Ahhh. Not well. Now, the boys and I have come up with a plan to try and deal with Amara, and to put big brother back in his place, to wit, The Cage, which held him nicely for eons."

Jehuel sneered again. "And you three hope to succeed where the Host of God could not?!"

Crowley began to speak, but Sam interrupted. He took a deep breath, a step forward, and looked at Jehuel, his face open, pleading. "Please. We need your help." Crowley shot him a look, and kept silent.

"Another abomination."

Sam closed his eyes, winced. "Yes. I was - am - an abomination to the angels." His voice shook, and Dean bit back hard on his anger. The angels had wanted the Apocalypse, had engineered everything, down to making sure he and Sam were born, brothers, mirror images of Michael and Lucifer. But still they looked down on Sam, even though his mere existence was their desired goal. His brother. One of the finest men he knew. And they called him an abomination, damn them! He clenched his fists at his side, but kept his mouth shut.

Sam went on. "But I am begging you to help us. We have a way - a spell - to seal Lucifer back up. We have weapons that will help against The Darkness. But we need - " He stopped, bit his lip, ran his open palm down the top of his thigh nervously. "To do it, we need angel Grace. That's why we - called you here. To ask you - _beg_ you - to help.

"Called". Well, it _was_ a more diplomatic word than summoned. Dean kept his eyes pinned to the angel, trying to gauge the effectiveness of Sam's plea. He was vaguely aware that Crowley seemed as watchful as him.

Jehuel said nothing, just looked at Sam, nostrils flaring, a glimmer of his power simmering in his eyes.

Sam stepped closer, until he was right beside the ring of fire, the light flickering off his face, calling up the red highlights in his long hair. Looking at him, so close to the angel, the similarity was striking: tall, lean, long faces, red hair. Dean closed his eyes, flexed his fists, reopened them to watch.

"I know...I know that, whenever we try to fix the world, we end up breaking it even more. But we need to try. We need to try to put The Darkness back, Lucifer back. You can help us. _Please_." He spread his hands wide. His sincerity shone on his face, rang in his voice, and it sank into Dean like a knife.

_Oh, Sammy._

He and Crowley and Sam waited, quiet. The silence was broken only by the soft sound of the flames, flickering and dancing in the circle around the angel. Jehuel still didn't say a word. Finally, Sam drew in a breath that was almost a sob, then his head fell and he turned away, shoulders drooping. Dean wanted to grab him, tell him he'd done good, that any angel that ignored that heartfelt plea was a motherfucking son of a bitch not worth his time...

Jehuel said, "Tell me more about this plan of yours."

Dean's eyes shot to the angel. Sam froze. Crowley shifted, eyes widening slightly and eyebrows soaring.

* * *

 

Jehuel was still an arrogant SOB. There had been a moment, when he learned that Castiel was Lucifer's vessel, when it had seemed to all fall apart - the angels, to the very last of them, hated Cas. But the moment passed, Jehuel steeled himself to the idea of rescuing Cas as a side effect of the plan, and now they had not only a vial of Grace for the spell, but Jehuel's promise of angelic assistance when it all went down.

He pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge, ran one of them across his forehead, and sighed. Then he turned, only to find Sam standing behind him. He jumped.

"Don't _do_ that, dude!"

"Sorry," Sam said with a small smile, taking one of the bottles from him and popping it open with a quick twist. He stepped back and sat down on the kitchen table, taking a swig. "So. Think we've got a chance in hell of this whole scheme working?" He lifted an inquiring eyebrow at his brother.

Dean shrugged. "Best we've got." He reached out with his bottle, tapped it against Sam's. "Here's to desperate measures."

"I'll drink to that, too," Crowley drawled from the kitchen doorway. He lifted his glass of scotch to them with an ironic flick of his hand.

"Desperate measures," Sam murmured, lifting his bottle.

They all drank.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio find another Hand of God, in a very unexpected place.

Dean sat in the dark common room, leaning back in the chair, idly flipping an angel blade in his hand. There was one light, from one of the old-fashioned lawyer's lamps, sitting on one of the other tables. He focused on nothing in particular, just looking into the darkness. The weapons on the walls reflected the soft light. His wandering eyes caught on an elegant antique katana, then moved on to the Spear of Destiny, then rested on a set of throwing stars.

Cas was out there somewhere. Lucifer was doing God knows what, to God knows who, and Cas was stuck inside there, watching. Unable to do anything. Helpless.

Dean flipped the knife again.

Why'd he do it? Oh, Luci had probably told him he could stop Amara. But Cas _knew_ him, knew he lied - about everything. Why should he think this one time was any different? Dean's hand clenched on the knife hilt, then relaxed. He flipped it.

"All alone in the dark, pet. That's a bad sign."

Dean's lips folded. "Let me be, Crowley."

Crowley's shadowy form moved to the liquor cabinet. There was a soft clink of glassware. Then he sauntered over to the table, one hand placing glasses on the table, the other holding a bottle of Crowley's precious single-malt. The dim light flickered on his hand, pouring liquor into the glasses. He sat down, pushed one glass toward Dean, and leaned back himself.

"Dean Winchester, sitting alone in the dark flipping a knife. Tch," he murmured. He lifted the glass to his hidden lips, drank. The light splintered and flashed from the scotch in his glass as he returned it to the table.

"Dude. Just - " Dean closed his eyes in irritation. He reached out blindly for the glass and drank, too, slamming the scotch back. It burned down his throat, leaving a mellow, smoky aftertaste that made him take notice, savor it. He huffed out a small, surprised laugh, the air rushing through his mouth stirring the fumes, making him taste it again. "Hunh! Now that's good!"

"Of course. That's why one pays the big bucks. For the good stuff." Crowley was silent for a moment. "Talk to me, Dean. A person doesn't sit around like this unless something's going on. Brooding over your angel, no doubt."

He squeezed the glass, surprised his sudden grip didn't shatter it. "Y'know what Crowley? It's none of your damn business," he growled.

"Oh, come _on_ , Squirrel. It's evident all the time, in the way you turn to say something to someone who's not there, in the way your eyes flick up to scan whoever enters the room and show just...the slightest...bit of disappointment when it's the wrong person. Trust me. I notice these things. Even during our...little adventures of last year..." Dean flushed, grabbed the bottle, poured himself more. He could barely see Crowley's smirk. "Even Demon Dean was missing someone."

Dean stared into the darkness, brooding. Damn Crowley, anyway! Why'd he have to go poking and prodding? And why the _hell_ did he have to bring up last year? He lifted his glass, about to slug it back, but changed his mind at the last second, merely taking a sip, holding it in his mouth, swishing it around, then slowly swallowing, enjoying the complex mix of flavors.

"Now that's better. That's the way to treat good scotch." Crowley leaned forward, poured himself some more, and stayed hunched over his drink. "We need your head in the game, Squirrel. No hesitations. The spell might not work."

Dean felt a hurting hollow in his chest at the thought. His eyes flicked up to meet Crowley's, then away again. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Crowley. I'm in." He paused, then said, heavily, "What do we do if the spell doesn't work?"

Crowley slouched back, shrugged. "Eh. If the spell doesn't work? We hope we can haul ass, get away. If we can't? Well, then, it'll be someone else's problem, not ours. Me? I'll burn for eternity for daring to fight His Nibs. You? You'll no doubt be in Heaven, like all good 'heroes'. Or you'll come back, like you two always do." He waved his glass in an expansive gesture. "God's faves, you boys. He's got a hard-on for you two."

Dean snorted softly. "Nah. Not this time. We've got good word that we're slated for 'The Empty', whatever that is. Sammy ran into a Reaper - Your Reaper buddy. Billie. She told Sammy. He said she seemed pretty set on it." He smiled wryly at the thought. No coming back. He could almost get into that. No more fighting. No more wheeling and dealing with angels and demons. No more constant vigilance. Just...peace and quiet.

"Ah. Billie." Crowley cocked his head with a half-seen wry smile. "Yes, well, _she_ may want that. Doesn't guarantee that the big guy - " He gestured with his glass to an unknown presence above. " - sees things the same way."

"God?" Dean barked out a sharp laugh. He stared blindly at the barely visible weapons on the wall again. "God's gone off the reservation. Riding the pine. Remember, Joshua said he's done with all of us." This time he did slam back the drink. He dropped the glass on the table, leaned forward to switch on the lamp, and blinked at the sudden illumination.

"All very philosophical, Squirrel. But. Mark my words; if you get thrown into the 'Empty', something will drag you back out."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"In the meantime..." Crowley stood up, turned around and strolled to the wall of weapons. "Tell me about these."

"Why?" He was suspicious. Crowley turned around, an expression of injured innocence on his face.

"Goodness. Such readiness to think the worst of me. Rest easy. I'm deathly bored again, now that we've translated the spell and have the ingredients. My Ollie has deserted me in favor of your moose. We're waiting for - whatever, I'm not sure - to start the process, and I'm intrigued. Talk."

Dean was still suspicious, but shrugged. "We've got what Sam swears is the Honjo Misamune there." He pointed at the katana. Crowley moved closer to examine it, sipping at his scotch. "Misamune was supposedly the greatest Japanese swordsmith." He pointed at the stars. "Tashinshuriken. Throwing stars. They're probably famous or special in some way. We haven't figured out what. Then there's the Spear of Destiny in between 'em." Crowley froze, staring at the spear. "We had just the spearhead in a box; Sammy fixed it up with a shaft. It's supposedly - "

Crowley held up a hand. "The spear pushed into the side of Yeshua bin Yosef - Jesus -while he was on the cross." He turned to face Dean, lips folded, eyes angry. "You've had a Hand of God here all along, and just - what? Didn't want to tell me?"

Dean shook his head, confused. "Dude, what?! It's not a Hand of God, not touched by God - "

"Are you a complete and total _IDIOT_?!" Crowley roared. He flung up a hand and shook his head. "No, no, don't answer. Yes. Yes, you are. Think back to whatever smidgen of theology might have hammered its way into your thick head over the years." Dean shook his head some more, arms sspread in a perplexed shrug. Crowley stared angrily at him, then closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Didn't that father of yours teach you _anything_?! Who, pray tell, is Jesus?"

Dean felt like a schoolchild being put on the spot by an impatient teacher. He also felt stung by the smear on his father's teaching skills. His jaw worked, then he said tightly, "Son of God?"

Crowley bit his lip, made a circular gesture with a hand. "Trinity? Father, Son, Holy Ghost? Three in one? God manifest on Earth? Does _any_ of this sound familiar to you?!"

Dean ground his teeth. "Y'know, Dad was more concerned with us knowing about how to kill monsters - "

"Gah!" Crowley ran frustrated hands through his hair, threw them up, then strode back to his chair, poured himself some more scotch, and downed it all in one gulp. Then he sat down and cradled his head in his hands. "They've had it all along and didn't know what it was." He was talking to an invisible spectator. "Stupid. Little. _TWITS_!" He flung his hands down on the table with a thump. "Ignoramuses! I'm working with ignoramuses! The most recent, most powerful Hand of God, and you two hadn't a clue!"

There was a noise by the hall to the kitchen. Dean glanced over. It was Sam, in his night uniform of sleeping t-shirt and sweat pants, bare-footed, blurry eyed and hair every which way, blinking at them.

"Hey. What's going on? I heard yelling?"

Crowley swiveled around and stabbed a finger at him. "What's 'going on' is that I have yet more evidence of what an idiotic pair of _INFANTS_ you two are!" he snarled.

Sam shuffled further into the room, his eyes automatically searching out Dean's with a question in them. Dean shrugged. "Crowley says the Spear of Destiny is one of the Hands of God." Sam's attention snapped to the demon.

Crowley bared his teeth. "Not just 'one' of them," he bit out. "An object not just _touched_ by God, but bathed in his blood." Dean took a breath, but Sam held up his hand to stop him. He was, by now, wide awake, and Dean could almost see his mental gears turning. He ran his hands through his long hair, pushing it away from his face, eyes distant. He looked at the Spear with wonder, then walked over to it, reached out a tentative hand, drew it back before touching it. Then he turned back to them, came over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

"How - " he started, then stopped. He pulled in a breath, and frowned. He continued, slowly, "How come we didn't feel it? Why didn't it burn us out when we touched it?"

Crowley lifted an eyebrow. "What happens when someone uses a Hand of God?" he asked. Sam frowned at him. Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically. "Must I do _all_ your thinking for you?" Sam slumped down, rolling the question over in his head. He ran his hand down over his face, ending with it rubbing his jaw.

"If someone uses it..." He paused. "If someone uses it, it's no longer...usable. It's...dormant, I suppose one could say. Unless..."

"Unless you have that fancy tattoo," Crowley finished for him. He leaned back and glared at them. "So that means...?" He flexed his hands open, with an encouraging look. Sam blinked at him.

"That means that someone's already used it. Once. Sometime in the past two thousand years."

Crowley toasted him with his glass. "Give the boy a gold star!" he snarked. "Exactly. There are a few - a very few! - brain cells in that pretty head of yours, Moose." Sam frowned at him again. It was irritated, not thoughtful, this time.

Dean peered at the Spear, then looked at the other two. "Okay, then. We've got ourselves a super-charged Hand of God. I guess. So now what?"

Crowley flipped up an eyebrow. "Now what? I go get myself a pretty little tattoo to match yours. The more Hands we have to fight Amara with, the merrier, eh?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a tattoo and e three of them come up with a plan.

It was a lovely spring morning. He could hear robins calling for the first time in months. Sunlight dappled through the new leaves on the trees, and a breeze drifted by, tickling his ear and lightly ruffling his hair. He took a sip of his morning coffee, eyes narrowed, thinking.

"Hey."

He started, looked around. Sam. He lifted his cup in greeting. "Hey."

Sam walked over to lean on Baby's hood beside him, looking out over the landscape with a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Nice."

"Yup." Dean took another sip.

"You're thinking."

"Yup."

Sam leaned forward, pulled loose a dead grass stem, and settled with his elbows on his knees, twirling the seed head around and around. He stared at it with pursed lips. "So. What's our next step?" He turned his head to look at his brother. "We've got three Hands of God. Crowley's off getting tatted."

Dean sipped again. "Yup." His eyes followed the flight of a small hawk in the distance.

Sam sat straight, stripped the seed head off the stem and tossed it at him. Dean fended it off absently. "C'mon, Dean. You know we can't let Crowley near the Spear.

"Yup."

"Is that _all_ you're gonna say this morning?!"

Dean's lips twitched a bit, then he grinned. "Damn, Sammy, sometimes you're too easy to poke at, y'know?" Sam slumped a bit and rolled his eyes. "Nah, we can't let him have it. He can use the Rod. I'll handle the piece of the Ark, and you, buddy - " He nudged Sam with an elbow. " - _You_ do the Spear." Sam made a small movement of negation, and Dean gestured with his cup to stop him. "Look. You have experience with...um...'power'." He mimed air quotes. "So does Crowley. Makes sense I get the smallest, probably least powerful, HoG. I dunno what the hell we're actually gonna _do_ with them, mind. What, point-and-shoot?"

Sam cocked his feet on the bottom of Baby's grill and scooted back a bit to sit fully on the hood. He shrugged. "Intention has a lot to do with it. When I - " He stopped, looked away, bit his lip. When he went on, his voice was slightly ragged and halting. "When I was using my power to...to exorcise...to _kill_ demons..." He drew in a breath. "Well. You have to know specifically what you want to do. Specifically. Down to the smallest detail." He stopped again, waved a wordless hand, then ran it through his hair, frustrated. "It's harder than it sounds."

Dean grunted and drank some more coffee. "Yeah, doesn't sound all that hard - " He was interrupted by an unwelcome voice.

"First, Squirrel, we need to figure out what it is we want to do. And keeping the details firm in your mind while you're doing it is, as Moose says, harder than it sounds." Dean grimaced and swiveled around. Crowley stood at the top of the bunker stairs, hands in pockets, glancing around at the trees and grass with a slight, smug smile.

"Speak of the devil..." Dean snarked.

Crowley strolled toward the car. "Technically, no. Lucifer is the Devil. I am merely the King of Hell - "

"Former," Sam muttered, not bothering to look at him. His shoulders had tensed up at Crowley's first words.

Crowley rolled his eyes and came to a stop. "Yes, yes, 'former', I grant you that. Currently. Anyway. Hello, boys. I come to you freshly tattooed and ready to work wonders with a Hand of God." He patted his shoulder, rolled it, and winced. "Interesting. I can _feel_ it, y'know," he mused, eyes vague and unfocused. "Not physically, though I feel that, too. Very strange. Possibly the conflict between my splendidly demonic personality and the decidedly non-demonic nature of the tat." He rapped the Impala's hood with his knuckles. "So, tell me, boys, what exactly do we want to do with Amara?"

The question hung on the air. Sam's hair stirred in the fresh breeze as his forehead wrinkled in thought. Crowley smiled gently and rocked on the balls of his feet, hands back in his pockets. Dean looked out at the woods, not seeing them as he thought.

_What the hell can we do? Sister of God. Jesus. Here we are, just a pair of Hunters and a bigwig demon. It took God and the archangels last time. I mean, we've got some of God's power - holy shit! - but..._

He didn't think about Cas. He _couldn't_ think about Cas. Because, if he did, he'd want to go full speed ahead, ignoring The Darkness, trying to rescue him. And. Well. Even though they didn't have any real idea of what Amara was capable of, aside from withstanding the full force of all of Heaven's angels, she was Big Bad Mojo, and should be their first priority -

"The Empty..." Sam said. Dean slid curious eyes his way.

"Eh?" Crowley asked.

Sam sat straight up, focused and intense. "Billie - the Reaper - "

"Yes, yes, I know her, Dean's met her," Crowley said impatiently. Sam held up a hand, stopping him.

"She said that when Dean and I die again, there's no take-backs, because she'll stuff us into 'The Empty', whatever it is. She made it sound like there's no way out. What if...what if...we use the Hands of God to force Amara into The Empty?" He looked from Dean to Crowley, then back again.

"Hunh," Dean grunted.

"Hmmm," Crowley murmured, rocking back and forth.

"I mean, for all we know, that's where she was trapped all along!" Sam said, excited. "God and the archangels push her in, slam it shut, seal it with the Mark...and then we meddle with the Mark, remove it, and she busts out..." He looked at the others, expression hopeful. Dean pursed his lips, shrugged.

Crowley pulled a hand out, peered at his fingernails, then brushed some dust off his sleeve. "I do hate to burst your pretty little bubble there, Moose, but...given what our Reaper friend said...if we trap The Darkness in The Empty, and then you boys die - going out in a blaze of glory, no doubt, in keeping with your melodramatic tendencies - ahem." He paused and focused on his fingernails again and shrugged. "It seems likely that our dear Reaper friend will shove you in there, and you will be forced to spend eternity locked in there with The Darkness." He shrugged again. "Just thought I should mention the elephant in the room."

Dean chewed on the idea. Sam looked dismayed, then he squared his shoulders, sucked in a deep breath, and said, "We released her. It's our job to put her back. If we end up stuck there with her..." His eyes, dark and pained, wandered from tree to tree, as if seeing them for the last time. "Well. I guess that's the price we have to pay."

Crowley flicked an eyebrow up. "Oh so noble," he murmured in a dry voice. Sam glared at him.

Dean slapped a hand on his thigh and slid off Baby's hood to stand up. "Who knows? Maybe Billie'll be so happy we locked Amara back up she'll go back on that." Sam just looked at him, skepticism written on his face. "What? Might as well hope for the best, right?"

"Dean. When has 'the best' ever happened to us?"

Crowley snorted. Dean just shrugged. Then he rolled his shoulders, rolled his head on his neck, and stretched his back out by twisting first to one side, then the other. "So. Do we get this party started?"

Crowley frowned. "Not yet. We need a distraction for while we're working on locking Amara away. Otherwise, she'll sweep us aside like bugs. We will be too busy focusing. My suggestion? We loop Lucifer back into this little scheme of ours." Sam stiffened, looked at him, then at Dean. Dean's hands involuntarily balled into fists by his side. _Lucifer. That means Cas. We'll be using Cas as a distraction. More danger, for him -_

Crowley smirked at him as if he could hear his thoughts. "Summon Lucifer. Let him in on our little plan. He fights her, we use the Hands of God to...finger Amara." He leered at the double entendre. "But we make sure we have the spell to...erm...expel Lucifer all ready to go. Then, when Amara's stuffed away, we do our spell, and hocus pocus, all is back to normal!" His eyes gleamed, and his grin was thin-lipped, teeth bared.

Dean and Sam locked eyes. Thoughts were ticking away in Dean's head, and he could tell Sam was doing the same. He nodded, once, and Sam nodded back. He turned to Crowley and nodded sharply at him.

"Okay. Sounds good."

Crowley's grin widened. "Well, then, boys! I suggest we start getting everything in order." He gestured grandly to the bunker stairs and gave them a tiny bow. "Come along. Chop chop, work to do, all that." He sauntered to the stairs and started down.

Sam leaned in to Dean and murmured, "Don't trust him. He's got something planned."

Dean murmured back, "'Course. Keep your eyes peeled, keep alert." Then they both started following Crowley down the stairs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Amara helps Dean realize he can call her to him.

"Dean." The voice was warm, low, amused. Feminine. Familiar. He turned to it, his mind slipping into a haze, the world around him fading away, his focus solely on the figure in front of him. He dimly felt resentment at the hold she had on him, the bond that had been forced on him without his consent.

"Amara."

She smiled at him and her dark eyes pulled him in, deepened his mental haze.

"You've been thinking of me. That makes me happy, that there is one being out there - " She waved vaguely. "One being that thinks of me. Since my brother is too busy to acknowledge me." She moved closer and reached up a hand to cup his cheek, the fingers gentle and warm and alive. She slid the fingers down to his jaw, traced his jawline, then let the hand drop to his chest. His own hand moved up automatically to cover hers; it felt right, natural.

It also felt desperately wrong.

"Yes, I've been thinking of you. But not in a good way."

A faint frown crossed her face, then vanished. She regarded him gravely. "It doesn't matter what manner of thought it is. I feel it." She gave her own chest a fleeting touch. "Here." Then her hand slid across her forehead. "And here." She pressed it back over his heart. "You are troubled. Sad. Hurting. Remember, if you want to flee the sadness, to feel only bliss, I am here. Everywhere. Waiting for you." She swayed forward, her breath ghosting across his face. "Only say the word, and you will be part of me forever, and there will be no more heartache." Then she pressed her lips to his, and his arms slid around her without volition, pulling her close.

They tasted like stars. Like nebulae spinning in the depths of space. Like perfectly ripe cherries. Like everything. Like nothingness. His eyes slid closed and he drowned in the darkness that she radiated. Then he released her lips, drew in a breath, and stepped back.

"No," he said firmly. She just smiled, like a mother indulging a stubborn child.

"It _will_ happen, Dean."

Then she vanished. His head spun and his surroundings faded back into focus, along with his feelings of trapped desperation and helplessness.

_Why?! Why are we bound like this? What the hell does she want from me?_

He shook his head sharply to clear the last of the haze, and he looked around, gathering his bearings again. The meadow outside the bunker. He had wandered out here at noon, coffee in hand, enjoying the changing light and the birds, and then Amara had just - appeared. He shuddered, hating the way his very self seemed to vanish when he was near her.

The cup lay at his feet, the last dregs of the coffee still spilling out. That was another thing about Amara, the way time seemed twisted or halted when they had an encounter. He looked down at the cup with pursed lips, then shrugged, stooped to pick it up, and headed back down the concrete steps to the door.

_At least she doesn't seem to be able to read my thoughts, we'd be in deep shit if she could._

* * *

 

He was in the kitchen, staring blankly down at the coffee cup, struggling to remember just what he was doing, when Sam wandered in.

"Hey." Sam popped open one of the doors to the old-fashioned industrial refrigerator and peered in. Dean blinked, brought back to the moment, and glanced at him.

"Hey. Just had a visit from our friend, The Darkness." It was difficult to even say it. Admitting his weakness, his bond with her, was hard. It had taken him a long time to get to the point of talking about it at all with Sam. But they had had enough experience with the kind of damage keeping secrets from each other could do, and he was glad he had finally opened up about it. Still. The hold she had on him - it made him feel weak. Ashamed. Fearful that there was something deep within him that longed for darkness, leaned toward evil.

Sam stood up so abruptly that he banged his head against the open door. "Ow!" He frowned at his brother while rubbing his head. "Amara. What was she doing _here_?!" His eyes widened with a hint of panic. "Think she knows what we're up to?"

Dean leaned against the sink counter and sipped his coffee, eyes brooding. "Nah. She says I've been 'thinking about her', but doesn't seem to know why."

Sam, relieved, returned to the contents of the fridge, rummaging around, then emerged with both hands filled with spinach and fruit. Dropping the smoothie makings on the counter next to Dean, he nudged him with an elbow. "Outta the way." He dumped the fruit and veggies into the blender and flipped the switch. Forehead furrowed with thought, he spoke loudly over the racket. "So. I've been wondering just how we'd get to Amara, but this..." He turned his head to look at Dean. "You think you could...call her? Kind of like praying to Cas?"

Cas. Dean's heart clenched. Amara had said he was troubled, sad, hurting. Oh, yeah. He had a constant, gnawing worry about what was happening to Cas with Luci riding him. So, not surprising that Amara picked up on it. He pushed the thoughts down, took another sip of coffee.

"I was wondering, too. But I think you're right. Call her to me. Then we whammy her with the Hands, stuff her back into the Empty. Hope to God it works." He watched Sam pour the revolting green concoction into a glass with a grimace. "Dude. That's disgusting. How can you _eat_ that shit?"

Sam grinned. "Health and wellness in a glass," he said smugly. He started drinking, Adam's Apple bobbing with each gulp. Dean shuddered.

"Blissful domesticity." Crowley stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets jingling keys or coins, and a sour look on his face. "A million paper cuts with salt rubbed in them would be better...and we all know how much demons love salt." He sauntered in, peering at Sam's smoothie through hooded eyes. "Poison for lunch, Moose? Too much to hope for, I'm sure." Ill will oozed through every word. Sam glared at him, finished the drink, and pointedly turned his back, rinsing the glass out in the sink.

"Nobody asked _you_ , sunshine," Dean said. "What's got _your_ panties in a twist?"

Crowley hitched a hip onto the kitchen table and crossed his arms, transferring his brooding gaze to Dean. "Boys," he drawled, "Just when are we all getting down to business? I want this thing _done_. I'm tired of this plebeian bunker of yours, tired of being ' _nice_ '." He bared his teeth at the two of them. "Tired of brotherly love. It's like drowning in treacle."

Dean drew his head back a bit, eyebrows raised. "Whoa. Sorry to harsh your groove, man." Crowley snarled.

Sam leaned on his fists on the edge of the sink, staring down. "Dean got a visit from Amara," he gritted out. Crowley's attention snapped to him. He waited, but when Sam said nothing more, he focused back on Dean.

"And what did our lovely Auntie deity want with you, eh, Squirrel?"

Dean started to speak, closed his mouth, and frowned. "A...uh...chat?" He shrugged helplessly. "That was it. I think." Crowley blinked at him.

"A chat. A celestial deity on a par with God just wanted to...'chat'." He mimed the air quotes. "With _you_." He looked skeptical. Dean squirmed and shrugged again.

"Don't look at me, dude, I don't have the foggiest! I dunno what makes her tick!" He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling, lips pursed. "If anything..." He paused, then threw up his hands. "Hell. If anything, I think she's...uh...lonely." Sam swiveled around and joined Crowley in an astonished stare at him. "What?!" he said defensively.

"Lonely." Crowley snorted. "Let's set up a God-level lonely hearts club!" He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You don't think that maybe, just possibly, she has an inkling of what we're planning?" Dean shook his head. "Really..." Crowley purred. "You don't think that she might have, oh, gotten the information from you while 'chatting'?" Again with the air quotes. Crowley's eyes glittered dangerously. Dean's jaw worked. He stepped forward and abruptly yanked Crowley toward him by the lapels of his suit jacket. Sam took a quick step forward.

He leaned his head in to Crowley's and growled, "Y'know, asshole, it sure sounds like you just accused me of double-crossing you _and_ selling out my brother." Crowley's eyes drilled into his. For one tense moment, they were all poised on the edge of violence. Then Crowley puffed out a small laugh, gently pried Dean's fingers loose, and re-settled himself on the edge of the table. He dusted off his sleeve and peered back up at Dean, all easygoing charm once again. Sam relaxed and backed off.

"No. No, you wouldn't do that; you're like a knight what with your noble dedication to ridding the world of supernatural evil," he said lightly. "So. Aside from the info that she's lonely, did you get anything useful?"

"We think he can call her to us," Sam said flatly. Crowley blinked again.

"Call her?"

Dean nodded.

"Well, well, well. Isn't that interesting. And, yes, very useful," Crowley mused. Dean nodded again, wordless. A thoughtful silence fell on the group. Dean could see Crowley's mind ticking away, turning over the possibilities.

Sam broke the silence. "So, since we're just as eager to get you out of here as you are to be gone...now that we're pretty sure he can bring her here, to us...we can get started." Crowley's eyes slid to him, considering. After a moment, he gave them a quick nod.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio summon Lucifer and the end game begins.

Time. It was time.

Dean walked down the corridor to the common room, chewing over his worries. Would Lucifer help fight Amara? Would Jehuel come help, as promised? Would Amara actually come when he called her? Would they be able to use the Hands of God - and would their combined might actually force her into the Empty?

But it was what would happen after that set his heart beating and his hands spasming into fists at his sides. Cas. Could they actually evict Lucifer from Cas? Would the spell lock him back up in the Cage? And...

Would Cas survive this whole scene?

_Gah. Enough. Stop worrying. Get Sam, get things ready, and just do it!_

He paused before Sam's door, hand raised to knock, but paused when he heard Sam talking.

_Who the hell is Sam talking to?!_

He frowned, then shrugged, and gave the door two quick thumps. "Yo, Sammy! Get a move on! We're gonna do this thing, so get your ass down to the common room ASAP!"

Sam called out something indistinguishable. Satisfied that he'd heard, Dean headed on down the hall.

Swinging into the common room, he was greeted by the sight of Crowley slouched down in the oak chair that had become his favorite. As always, he had a glass of scotch in his hand, and was swirling it idly, eyes focused on it. The table before him was laden with supplies: chalk, silver spell bowl, Hands of God, herbs for the final spell, the vial of Jehuel's Grace glowing blue in the dim light. An angel summoning circle was neatly chalked on the floor next to the table.

Hearing Dean's entrance, Crowley glanced up with a neutral expression and eyes half-lidded. He raised his glass.

"Squirrel. Where's our Moose?"

"Coming." Dean moved to the table.

As he spoke the word, Sam strode in, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He came to an abrupt halt by the table, rubbed his hands on his upper thighs, and scanned the collection. Chewing his lip, he nodded to himself, then focused on the others. Dean eyed him with hidden curiosity; he knew his brother, and could tell something was on his mind.

"As you boys can see, I took the liberty of drawing the circle to summon Lucifer, surrounded it with a holy oil circle ready to be lit." Crowley gestured to the circle with a languid hand. Dean looked it over quickly and snorted. Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Is something amiss?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. It's just..." He paused. "Eh. Everyone's spell circles seem to...uh...show their personalities?"

Crowley craned his head and peered at the chalked design, a faint smile on his lips. "Ah. Indeed," he murmured. He carefully placed his glass on the table and stood up. "So. Ready?" He turned glittering eyes from one to the other. Dean nodded, one short, sharp movement of his head.

Sam stared at the circle, lips twisting, drew in a steadying breath, and said, "Yeah. Let's get on with it."

"Ah. Well. I suggest you do the honors, Moose." Sam darted a wide-eyed look at him. "Oh, come now. If you think Lucifer will respond...amiably...to _me_ summoning him..." He arched his eyebrows coyly at Sam, who mulled it over, then snorted soft agreement. "And, given that you have...shall we say, 'a longstanding relationship' with our darling archangel, I think he'll be in a better mood if it's you that summons him."

Sam turned worried eyes to his brother. "Dean?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his jaw, then across the nape of his neck, thinking. Then he shrugged. "Sounds like a plan." Sam's jaw worked, then he nodded.

_Gotta be tough, actually calling Luci here, after everything that's happened._

Sam stepped forward to the edge of the holy oil, and began chanting in Enochian. Though he tried to hide it, Dean could see that his hands were shaking - just a little bit, but enough that a concerned brother could see it. Sam ended the chant, and the others moved forward to station themselves around the circle. They waited. Just enough time passed that Dean was about to worry that it hadn't worked, then...

Cas appeared on the chalked sigils. Sam quickly lit a match and dropped it on the oil, and a small flame swiftly followed the oil trail, until Cas's form was encircled by the fire.

Of course, it wasn't really Cas. Dean had thought he would have to make an effort to remember that, but the way the angel's vessel stood, the lopsided smile that flickered across his lips, the almost smooth way he turned in the circle to look at the three of them - it all combined to scream _not-Cas_ at him.

"Well. Isn't this a jolly gathering!" The voice, too. Cas's voice was deep, gravelly, earnest. Lucifer's was lighter, more fluid. The hairs at the back of his neck started crawling at the disconnect between what Cas should be like and what stood before him. "Puppy!" Lucifer focused on Crowley and his voice was caressing.

' _Puppy'?!_ Dean darted a glance at Crowley. The erstwhile King of Hell's jaw worked.

"You've been a bad, bad dog. Running away. I guess I'll just have to teach you what happens to bad little puppies who don't obey their master, eh?" Dean would never have believed it if he wasn't seeing it: Crowley jerked back from Lucifer's lazy smile and glittering eyes with a tiny flinch. Dean blinked. That furtive movement spoke volumes about Lucifer's power.

Lucifer looked at him next, but didn't say anything, his eyes just moving on to Sam. Dean found himself bridling at the implication that he was so worthless as to warrant not even a comment.

_Okay, dude, get a grip. It's a Good Thing that he's pretty much ignoring you. Don't go all hurt pride right now!_

"Sam." If Lucifer's voice - _Cas's_ voice, dammit! - had been caressing with Crowley, he was practically crooning now. Sam's hands balled into fists. "Made special, just for me. Good to see you again, kiddo. Hugs?" Sam jerked his head back. "No? Damn, Sammy! We could have so much fun together, you and me...just like we did before." He grinned. Sam shuddered.

Dean ground his teeth and stepped forward, ready to defend Sam, but Lucifer went on before he could say anything. "So, boys, just what made y'all call me here? I mean, _I_ think I'm kinda special, but...well..." He shrugged. "I'm guessing it's not my great personality." He squinted at Sam, shaking a pointed finger at him. "Nah. You want my help with Auntie Amara, right? Time to ante up for my release? You give some..." He hunched his shoulders, gestured around at them with hands splayed. "I give some." He gestured back at himself. " _Quid pro quo_ , Clarice?" He grinned again, sweeping them all with a glance. "Am I right or am I right? Eh?" He waited for a response, then rolled his eyes. "Aw, _c'mon_ , boys! What's wrong? Cat got your tongues?"

Dean swallowed, stepped forward, braced himself. "Nah, you got it right. You said you could do it. Time to prove it." Lucifer focused on him and he gritted his teeth at the weight of that gaze. "Y'can't do it by yourself - "

"Hey, now!" Lucifer sounded insulted. "Who says that?"

Now, this was familiar territory - Dean had heard all kinds of monsters, demons, con men trying to talk their way out of promises made. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Nobody needs to. If you could do it on your own, you'd've done it by now; Amara's just as much of a danger to you as she is to - to - " He waved wordlessly. "Everything." Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him, folded his arms, rubbed his jaw thoughtfully with one hand.

"Maybe I just wanted to take my time," he said.

Dean snorted. "Oh, yeah. Right. Like we believe that." Lucifer's eyes glittered with anger, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Don't - " he hissed, and pointed at him. "Do _not_ go thinking you can outwit _me_ , boy." His voice dripped venom.

Dean drew in a breath, forced courage on himself. "Whatever, dude. Anyway. We have you, all powered up. We have the three of us, powered by Hands of God." Lucifer stiffened. "Yeah. We've got Hands of God, pieces of cosmic power, _and_ the tats to use them. So we're thinking it's time to stuff Amara back where she came from - the Empty."

Lucifer blinked, and focused Cas's vivid blue eyes on him. He moved forward to stand at the edge of the circle of fire, mere feet separating him from Dean. "Well," he murmured. "Well, well, well. You boys have been busy little bees, haven't you? Hands of God...the idea of the Empty. My." He stood there, eyes drilling into Dean, saying nothing. The silence grew uncomfortable. Sam shifted. Crowley coughed into his hand. Dean clenched his jaw, mouth dry, trying not to flinch.

_Hey, you wanted his attention? You've got it now, buddy! Damn. Be careful what you wish for._

"Hah!" Lucifer clapped his hands together, and the trio surrounding him jumped at the sudden noise which echoed through the common room. He interlaced his fingers, putting the index fingers together, and swiveled around, pointing at each of them in turn. "Busy, busy, busy." He stopped his turn, and leaned confidentially in toward Dean. "It's a good idea!" he said out of the corner of his mouth. "But not really a surprise. Y'see..." He circled a hand in the air beside his head. "A little birdie told me already."

_What?! Who?!_

Dean's mind raced, trying to figure out whether this was yet another trick, something said just to undermine their confidence...or whether someone had, indeed, spilled their plans. And if whoever it was had also let him know about the rest of their plan...

He turned to face Dean straight on, a wide grin spreading across his face. "But, sure, Dean Winchester. Let's get it on with Auntie, eh?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle with Amara has some twists and turns.

"So, now what?" Dean looked around at the other three, his eyes flinching away from looking directly at Lucifer. _Not Cas!_ "I just call her? And we wait? Do I call with my voice or my mind?"

"That _was_ the general idea, Squirrel." Crowley's voice was as impatient and acid as ever, but Dean noticed that he, too, avoided looking at Lucifer. "You're the one with the link - do what you think will work. I do suggest, however, that we all three have our Hands to...erm...hand." He smirked and gestured at the gathered artifacts. Dean and Sam nodded. Lucifer yawned and rolled his eyes.

Crowley stepped to the table. Eyes glittering, he reached out for the Spear of Destiny, but Sam, close behind, leaned forward and seized it before he could. Crowley darted an angry look at him, and Sam just bared his teeth at him in a tight grin. "You don't really think we'd let _you_ have that one, do you?" he asked, holding the spear by his side in a tight grip, grounding the butt of the spear on the floor. Crowley lifted Aaron's Rod from the table, watchful eyes on Sam.

Lucifer watched the interplay with bright, interested eyes. "My. Trouble in Paradise, boys? Good for you, Sammy! Not a good idea to let my puppy get his paws on that one." Crowley, stung, spun to snarl at him. Lucifer just grinned and mimed patting a dog, ignoring the flicker of red that flared in Crowley's eyes. "Better that he has the stick...maybe he can chew on it when we're done," he smirked. Crowley growled low in his throat.

Standing by the table, Dean let the byplay wash over him and stared down at the piece of the Ark, wrapped in its protective fabric covering. He reached, hesitated, then, with a deep breath, picked it up.

_Delphine died to protect this...are we doing the right thing? Will it work?_

"Okay, then," he said, setting his jaw. "Let's do this." He stepped forward to stand with Sam. Crowley moved to Sam's other side. Dean closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, the way he felt when he was around her. He called out, "Amara!"

His thoughts echoed her name. He focused on the pull she had with him, the incoherent longing he felt around her.

_Amara...please..._

"Dean." He slowly opened his eyes, already feeling the whirling disconnection with the world around him. He knew, dimly, that Sam and Crowley stood beside him, Lucifer still in his confining circle of flame, but they were of no importance now. His focus latched onto her, graceful, grave, beautiful. "You called. I came," she murmured. "Come to me, Dean. Join me." He stepped forward in a dream, watched her hand drift to him. They were floating free in the universe. She smiled at him and he could feel he was her anchor, she, his. His hand clasped hers and drew her forward; his other hand, holding something unimportant, slid around her waist, pulling her close against his body. Her eyes were pools of gentle brown, all he could see, drowning him. His eyelids drooped as he bent his head to hers, their breath mingling.

There was something he was supposed to do, but it didn't matter.

Two glowing golden pillars flanked him, a brilliant actinic white blaze flared behind him. Light poured out from the three spots, converged on her. She stiffened, her eyes widened, alarmed, and she called out, "Dean! _Help me!_ "

The _need_ to protect her, stand between her and anything that might harm her, that he had felt so strongly when her vessel was a child, surged up again. He swiveled to stand between her and the streams of light, arms wide to fend off the attack, but the brilliant lights swept through him, tossed him to the side, returned to focus on her. Pulling himself up from the floor where he had been flung, he staggered back to her side, head spinning. All he knew was that he had to do something, anything...

There was something in his hand. Something...powerful. He could use it. Snarling, he yanked the binding fabric off, held the object in his bare hand. He felt the golden fire sear his fingers, travel up his arm, flash through his body like a whirlwind, and he could _taste_ it, taste the power and the glory that flooded him. He shuddered, threw his head back, lips peeled back in a grimace. Power. Raw, orgasmic power, like he had never felt before in his life.

He staggered back into the beam of light, stood between Amara and the flaming pillars, held a hand out, deflecting it. But even with the power surging through him, it wasn't enough. Step by slow, grudging step, the laser brilliance forced him back. He knew, though, that whatever he was doing hindered the attack, gave her time -

"Dean!"

The urgent call cut through him. He knew that voice, _knew_ it. He shook his head blindly, thrust the thought away -

"Dean! _Stop_! Come back to us! Don't let her do this to you!"

_Cas?!_

He blinked.

_Something is wrong..._

He blinked again, squinted against the brilliance of the converging spears of light. There. In the center of the white flame. Vivid blue eyes locked on him.

_Cas?!_

"Cas...?" he croaked. His voice felt awkward, as if he didn't know how to use it. But still...he _needed_ to protect Amara.

"Dean. Drop the artifact. Please. Let us do what we have to do."

A war waged within him. The bond with Amara pulled one way, the bond with Cas tugged him another. Falling to his knees, he still held up his hand, pushed with his power.

_I'm doing something wrong..._

_Cas needs help..._

_The plan. Thrust Amara into the Empty. Seal her away._

He looked at his hand held before him, clenched rigidly around...something. The tendons stood out and his arm shook, his teeth grinding against the surging, overwhelming power. A slow, foggy, agonizing effort rewarded him with one finger spasming loose. Then another, and another, and the ancient piece of petrified wood tumbled from his nerveless hand to clatter on the floor.

The power rushed away as quickly as it had flooded him, leaving him dizzy and gasping. He slumped to the floor, dimly aware that the three beams of light were once again focused on Amara. A tearing sound ripped through the air, and behind her, he could see a huge slit of...nothingness. His mind flinched from the sight, unable to process the total negation of everything his world contained.

"Dean! _Help me!_ " Amara screamed as she staggered backwards, pushed by the burning firehose of light. Her eyes locked on his, and he was drowning in them again, head spinning. He reached out across the floor to try and lock onto her ankle, stop her from that final step backward into the Empty.

" _Don't leave me alone!_ " she wailed, an eternity of loneliness and heartbreak and fear echoing in her voice. His heart twisted in response.

" _Amara!_ " he cried hoarsely, struggling to reach her.

Then, with a roar, a wild, rushing wind, and a clap of thunder, the rip in the world sucked her in and closed behind her. The spear of light dwindled, separated, and faded away, and the common room filled with a ringing silence.

Dean sucked in a gasping breath, echoed by Sam and Crowley. Sam slumped to the floor, spear clattering down beside him, and rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his head in his hands. Crowley leaned against the table on his fists, his breathing ragged while he regained his composure.

The only one who seemed unaffected was Lucifer - it was Lucifer again, not Cas. Dean glared at him. "Let him out just long enough to stop me, hunh?" Lucifer smiled sweetly at him and shrugged.

"Ohhhh, just thought it might be a good idea." He swayed back and forth, grinning. "Had to come up with _something_ , didn't I?" He rubbed his chin. "Auntie seemed to have a real strong hold on you, Deano. And...given what I've gotten from little Castiel while he's been tucked away, I thought it was worth a try."

Dean jerked himself to his feet, took an angry, staggering step forward. "You goddamned son of a bitch - " he snarled.

Lucifer just smirked, studying the fingernails of one hand. Then he stabbed a finger at Dean. "Worked, didn't it?" He arched an eyebrow.

Yeah. Yeah, it had worked. That didn't mean he had to like it. He glanced around at Sam, who was huffing deep breaths, then at Crowley...

...who was smiling a tiny, hidden smile while studying Aaron's Rod lying on the table.

_Uh oh. That's not good -_

"Oh, puppy!" Lucifer sang out. Crowley froze. Lucifer ducked his head with a sly smile of his own, and crooked a finger at him. "C'mere, puppy dog," he crooned. "Bring your stick with you, that's a good boy..."

_That's not good, either!_

Crowley slowly reached out, picked up a piece of cloth, wrapped it around the rod, and picked it up. He grimaced as he did so. With an awkward lurch, he turned around and started a mechanical, jerking walk toward the fiery circle around Lucifer.

"Hey! _Hey!_ What the hell?!" Dean shouted, moving to intercept Crowley, whose eyes were darting frantically between him and Sam. A flick of a hand from Lucifer slammed him back against the table and held him there.

"Fetch, puppy!" Lucifer's gleeful voice echoed through the room. He held out his hand, and Crowley, teeth bared, handed him Aaron's Rod. Lucifer placed his other hand on Crowley's head, his eyes glittering as he pushed him to his knees. He smirked as he ruffled his hair and crooned, "There's a good puppy!" He pursed his lips and added, "I think you won't be needing that pretty tattoo anymore, eh?" He snapped his fingers. Crowley staggered and growled, then quickly shut his mouth when Lucifer raised a foot and shoved him flat on the ground.

Lucifer cocked his head and stared down at him thoughtfully, nibbling at his lips. "Hmmm. Well. _That's_ done!" He straightened his head again and smiled at Sam. "So, Sammy. I've done _my_ part of the deal. Your turn now!"

Dean's stomach plummeted. He looked from Lucifer to his brother, a feeling of dread rising.

Sam lifted his own head and he looked back at Dean with haunted, guilt-ridden eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam made a deal, and now it's come due...

"Sam?" Dean's voice cracked. Without meaning it, he found himself on his knees on the floor next to Sam, one trembling hand gripping his shoulder. "Sammy?" He drew in a deep breath. "Tell me what you did." Sam turned his head away, closed his eyes. Now he had both hands on his brother's shoulders, shaking him fiercely. " _What did you do?_ " The words came out hard, and he shook Sam again with each one.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit he made some sort of deal oh god Sammy you don't do that you know that -_

" _Look_ at me!" His fingers dug deep and Sam winced.

"We didn't know - what if he wouldn't help - Dean - " Sam twisted and looked Dean in the eyes, his hands folding over Dean's forearms. "I had to be _sure_. We released her. We had to be _sure_ we could put her back. I just - just - " He swallowed. "We needed all the help we could get. Guaranteed." He paused again, then nodded toward Crowley. "And we had to be sure _he_ couldn't use the Hand of God when we were done..." Crowley, alerted by his name, looked up and snorted softly.

Sam, talking behind a closed door. Him, just shrugging it off. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, hissed in a breath. When he spoke again, it was strangled, hoarse. "So you made a _deal_. With _Lucifer_." He could feel Sam's nod. His eyes flew open, and he shook him again, jaw muscles clenching. "You goddamned _idiot_. Sammy, what the _hell_ were you thinking?!"

"Sammy! Sammy! _Sammy!_ " Lucifer's sing-song mocking jabbed into him, and he glared over Sam's shoulder at him, his eyes burning with rage. Lucifer smirked back. The fact that it was Cas's face taunting him made it that much worse. "Y'know, you guys are just too dramatic. Relax, why don't you? Chill! It's not the end of the world. We took care of _that_ already." The casual smile on his lips sent ice sliding down Dean's veins.

"You motherfucking son of a bitch. I am going to gut you," he bit out.

Lucifer threw up his hands. "Damn. See? What did I say? Over-dramatic." His eyes gleamed and he smiled dangerously. "Besides...been there, done that, Deano, and mighty damned hard it was for you two, what with everything coming down to the last minute." He boomed theatrically, "Will Sam fail? Will Sam succeed? Can he be the true hero and save the day? Or is the world doooomed? Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion!" He paused and shook his head, tapping his pursed lips with a finger. "Sammy here hung tough and threw himself into the Cage, dragging me with him. Worked once. Won't work again. Just sayin'." He oozed smug satisfaction.

Dean slid his eyes to Sam, who gave him the tiniest of nods, only visible to someone who knew him inside and out. Understanding flared through him, and he barely resisted the impulse to sag in relief.

_He didn't tell him. Luci doesn't know about the spell...but, still...he didn't do us a favor out of the goodness of his heart...and it's gotta be something big._

"So what was the deal?" His eyes shifted from Sam to Lucifer and back again. He had a pretty good idea.

"Aw, c'mon! _Really?!_ " Lucifer rolled his eyes and placed a foot on Crowley's prone form, rocking him back and forth, still with that smug smile plastered on his face. Crowley said nothing, just laid there, taking the prodding. "No? Wanna hint?"

"Spit it out, dammit!"

"Sheesh. No-one does their own thinking anymore. Well. Cassie's kinda...noisy. Oh, he promised he'd be a good boy, just like my puppy here." He smiled down at Crowley and kicked him in the stomach. Crowley curled into a ball. "But seems he just can't keep his yap shut. Sooo...I had two choices: toss him out, or find a new roomie. And I _almost_ got Sammy to the prom, that one time." He looked at Sam, eyes glittering; his smile vanished, and something ugly peered out of Cas's face. Dean swallowed again, throat dry.

_Here it comes..._

"Then he ditched me. I really didn't like that. I mean, _look_ at me!" He spread his arms. "I'm a nice guy. I did all sorts of things for Sam, really thoughtful stuff, let him get some of that pent-up anger out, y'know?" Dean shot a quick glance at his brother and saw him wince, face paling, eyes haunted. He had never asked Sam what those few days had been like, what had happened. Now he wanted not to know even more. Some things should be left unspoken. He looked back at Lucifer and shuddered.

"I thought we were pals, buds, long-lost soulmates reunited..." Lucifer said in a mournful tone. His voice shifted, became low and intense: "And then he dragged me back into the Cage." He paused. There was no smile now, just Cas's blue, blue eyes glittering at Sam.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Cry me a river. Boo hoo, Sammy dumped you. Get to the point, you're monologuing, dude." It was all bravado. He knew the point, knew what Lucifer wanted. He just really wanted this all to be a bad dream.

Crowley, listening, closed his eyes wearily and shook his head as much as he could with it smashed against the floor; he could recognize someone stupidly poking at a bear when he heard it.

"The point..." Lucifer murmured, eyes on Sam, a thoughtful hand stroking his chin. "Well. I'm trading on up, Dean. But you knew that." He paused again. "Get up, Sam, time to pay the piper." In the silence that followed, Sam slowly straightened, stood up, turned to face Lucifer. Dean could see his Adam's Apple bob with his convulsive gulp, could feel his dread in the way his body tightened and his jaw clenched.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit..._

It wouldn't work, he knew it, but he had to try. "Sam, _no_! Don't do it!"

Sam didn't even look at him as he said, in a shaky voice, "Yes."

Things happened at once, in a confusing melange. The searing blue-white glow of angel Grace blew outward from Cas and converged on Sam, spilling down his throat. Cas slumped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Crowley, released, rolled over and came to his knees, arm sheltering his eyes from the brilliant glow. And Sam...

Sam's body twitched. Eyes closed, he rolled his head slowly around the neck as if there was a knot needing release. He stretched his arms and torso like a man trying on a new suit, swiveled his wrists, flexed his hands into fists and then released them. Then he laced his hands together behind his back and began stretching that, too. It was a leisurely process. Dean, stunned even though he had known what was coming, just watched.

"Oil, you idiot!"

It was Crowley, shouting at him. He shook his head, not understanding, still frozen with shock and grief. Crowley growled impatiently, staggered to his feet and stumbled to the table, where he grabbed the pitcher of holy oil and a lighter. Then he scurried around Sam, dribbling oil as he went. Just as he finished the circle and flicked the lighter, poised to light the containing circle, Sam's eyes opened. He smiled, a taut, hard smile, and his hand shot out, closed on Crowley's wrist, twisted. The unlit lighter fell to the floor with a metallic clink.

"Oh, no you don't, puppy. You're being a bad, _bad_ dog again, making messes on the floor." The hand on Crowley's wrist twisted harder, and Crowley, biting his lips to hold back his gasp of pain, sank to his knees. Sam's foot sank a solid kick into his side, and he collapsed to the floor again.

"Bollocks!" he muttered, then curled up as Sam's foot slammed into him another time.

Lucifer turned to look at Dean with a slow smile, and deep in his head Dean howled with pain. It wasn't Sam, not any more, and he didn't know if he could take it, not again. First Cas, now Sam...

_We are so fucked._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amara is defeated, but now they have Lucifer to contend with.

Lucifer stepped forward, sliding a foot through the circle of unlit holy oil, and knotted his fist in the front of Dean's flannel shirt, dragging him closer. Sam's physical size coupled with his own angelic strength made Dean's struggles irrelevant. He tilted his head, and the blue-gray eyes scanned him intently for a moment.

"Now, let's see..." he murmured. "I could always disintegrate you, poof you out of existence." He shook Dean like a dog with a chew toy. "Boring. Or I could reach in here - " He laid his other hand flat on Dean's chest. "...and rip your beating heart out." He stopped and considered the idea. "Hmmm. Dramatic. And bloody. But over with too quick." He cocked an arm back. "Y'see, Dean, you got under my skin with that whole 'I loooove you, brother' bullshit you spouted at Sammy back there in the cemetery, years ago. You cranked in there and hijacked him, goosed his guts so he'd fight me. Soooo...I think I'll just keep on with what I was doing then, except _this_ time, no reprieve." The cocked fist slammed into Dean's stomach, and he doubled up with an explosive gasp of pain. Lucifer smiled and yanked him back up.

Stomach again. Jaw. Sternum. Eye. Kidneys. Nose. Ribs. Blow after blow, and after each one, Lucifer pulled him back up, pounded him again. He heard bones snapping, felt organs crumpling, pain searing through his body. It went on, and on, and on, an endless pummeling beyond what was necessary. Dean vaguely wondered, in between punches, if Lucifer was keeping him alive and conscious longer than humanly possible, just so he could keep the punishment coming.

At one point between grunts of pain, he croaked out a faint, protesting "Sammy!", trying to reach his brother. From a long, long way away, he heard Lucifer laugh.

"Not this time, Deano!"

It reminded him of his time in Hell. But Alistair had been elegant with his torture, doing a job he took joy in - if there was joy to be had in Hell. This, though - it was personal and brutal and unrelenting. By now, the punches he heard sounded wet, and he knew that blood was pouring out of him, spattering over his brother's body and the common room with each blow.

Finally - _finally!_ \- Lucifer stopped, shook him one last time, and let him go. It took an eternity for his battered body to fall to the floor, every nerve screaming in agony at the twist of his torso and the thump as he landed. One moment of peace, and then a foot kicked into him, lacerating his already torn gut, and he screamed long and high and keening, like a dying animal.

"Done, cockroach. Enjoy your last few minutes." He heard the ruffling sound of feathers and knew he was alone.

_Sam!_

And, oh, yes: the threat of Amara was gone, and now Lucifer was free to do what he always wanted, rid the world of the - as he saw it - blight of humanity. He'd do it, too, there was no-one out there to stop him, nobody knew. But it really didn't matter any more. All Dean wanted was to sink deep into the peaceful darkness he felt beckoning him, a haven from the pain. He fell into it with a fleeting feeling of gratitude, tumbling down and down and down.

* * *

 

"Dean." A voice, calling into his comforting darkness.

_No. No more. I can't take any more. Please._

"Squirrel!"

Crowley.

_Really?!_

Eh. It wasn't important.

Something shook him. He screamed. A rough hand cupped his jaw. The broken bones there ground together, the sound echoing through his head, and he screamed again.

"Lemme'lone," he mumbled, the sound muted and garbled and faint.

"Bloody Hell."

He wanted to return to the warm, comforting darkness, but in the background he dimly heard voices.

"Okay, angel, get your bloody ass over there and do your thing!"

"I...can't. My Grace..." Cas's voice was weak.

_Cas...?_

"I can heal myself, I can't heal him. I don't give a bloody goddamn about whether you feel like it, _GET YOUR ASS OVER THERE!_ Or do I have to drag you?" Scrabbling sounds. Grunts. Footsteps. "I'm not about to let my investment in the elder Winchester go belly up because you're feeling puny. Here. Down. Do it." A pause, then a long-suffering sigh. "Do I have to do _everything_?! Here." A hand rested on his forehead, and then, weakly, a familiar warm feeling stole through his head and down his torso. He could feel bones twisting back into place, muscles repairing, pain lessening. The desire to slip away, leave everything behind, just be able to rest, faded.

He cracked open his eyes.

Crowley, yes, crouching down beside him, holding Cas's hand to his forehead with a grim frown. Cas, eyes dazed, face lined with weariness and misery, leaning against Crowley's legs, arm extended.

"Cas."

Cas gave him a faint smile, which faded as if it took to much effort to hold it.

"Cas, buddy, you look like Hell warmed over." His voice was dry and cracked and emerged as a croak. He held out a weak hand to slide it around Cas's neck, give him a tiny, loving shake.

"I resent the implication," Crowley grumbled. "Even at its worst, Hell looks better. Much though it pains me, I apologize, angel; it appears that you're not quite back up to running speed yet." Cas nodded weak agreement.

Dean snorted, then gasped at the pain. Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yes. You're still not fully healed, just patched up a bit. Being Lucifer's vessel for so long seems to have siphoned off some of Castiel's Grace. My plan - such as it is - is to set you up on a cot here so you can rest, stuff your angel boyfriend with food, water, and a series of updates as to what's been going on, let him rest, then have him give you another go. Lather, rinse, repeat until the two of you are back up to snuff."

Dean blinked up at him. "Why're you doing this?"

Crowley gave him an exasperated look in return. " _Really_. It may have escaped your notice, Squirrel, but we still have a problem, to wit, Lucifer running around - with your brother as a vessel - without a handy competing Big Bad to monopolize his attention."

"Oh."

It crashed down on him again, with no easy escape luring him away this time. Sam. The deal. Lucifer. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back down to the floor with a thump, wishing he could block the reality as easily as he could block the sight of the common room.

"'Oh'. Yes. We do, however, still have that handy-dandy little spell. But I suspect it will take more...erm...energy to perform than the two of you currently have, together." He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Enough." A finger snapped, then a hand was sliding under him to lever him up. He reopened his eyes. "Up you get. A cot is now behind you. Up, up, up." Dean struggled to his knees, then found himself leaning against Crowley, gasping for breath and flinching from the pain of partially healed bruises, scrapes, and breaks. "Just a bit more," Crowley said. He gathered what little strength he had, staggered up, then half sat, half fell onto the cot. Crowley's hands pushed him down, then swung his legs up and covered him with a blanket. He was surprisingly gentle.

"Sleep."

He wanted to protest, to demand more answers, find out how Cas was doing, whether Cas still felt like he was worthless...But it was too much effort, and he slid back down into darkness. The good thing was, it was just temporary this time.

* * *

 

When he woke up and peered around with sleep-fogged eyes, the common room was dark, lit only by a lawyer's lamp on one of the tables. He turned his head, looking around. An oak chair was pulled up next to him, and Cas sat hunched forward on it, head in his hands.

"Cas...?"

Cas lifted up his head, looked at him, smiled. It was barely a twitch of his lips, but it made Dean's heart heal, just a bit.

"Dean." The familiar gravelly voice was a relief, after Lucifer's mocking lightness.

They spoke at the same time:

"How y'doing, man?"

"How are you feeling?"

Cas's smile widened, and Dean snorted and winced.

"You first, buddy."

Cas's smile faded and he glanced down at his hands, now resting clasped together between his legs. "I am...better. Being possessed by Lucifer...it was...difficult. I hid out, mostly." He slid his eyes up to meet Dean's fleetingly. "When I wasn't hiding, he spared a little attention to tormenting me, mostly with...false visions of what was happening outside." His lips twisted. "He does appear to like hurting others."

"Tell me about it," Dean said, voice dry.

Cas's lips twitched again. "I did a little more healing just a few minutes ago...but my Grace is still...lacking. I think Lucifer may have been stealing it. It will take time to regenerate fully. Crowley has been...amazingly helpful."

Dean snorted again. "Self interest. Does wonders for his inter-personal skills." He yawned. His eyes suddenly felt heavy, and his lids drooped down. "Good to see you being _you_ ," he mumbled. "Don't do anything that stupid again, ever. You're important to me - to us," he added quickly. "Don't ever doubt it. It just made things worse, dude." He yawned again. "Sorry. Just so damned tired." His eyes closed.

Cas's voice came from far away. "Rest some more. We both need to heal. And..." He paused. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean waved it away with a weak hand. "'Nough chick-flick shit. 'M tired." And he slipped back into sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley summons Jehuel to help healing Dean and Cas. The three attempt to trap Lucifer.

When Dean woke again, he knew things were different. He felt whole, healed, healthy. This was a big plus. The inevitable conclusion: Cas had completely regenerated his Grace. A second big plus. And Amara was gone. Plus, plus, plus. In all, the combination was rejuvenating.

Still. He poked at the strange internal bond he had with Amara. He experimented by thinking of her, envisioning what she looked like at her most spell-binding. Nothing. Not even the faintest of hints of the world falling away. Not a whiff of something out there with its hooks in him. He heaved a sigh of relief.

Sam, though, was still out there, acting as Lucifer's vessel. That one fact seemed to counter all the new pluses. And Crowley was still lurking around. Another negative. The thought of dealing with Crowley made him sigh again. Unable to decide whether adding up the pluses and minuses ended up on the positive side of things, he steeled himself and opened his eyes.

Standing over him with a dour expression was the angel Jehuel, arms crossed and fiery wings spread wide.

He closed his eyes again.

"So. Wasn't actually Cas that did the healing, hunh?"

"Your...friend...Crowley decided that waiting for Castiel to heal himself and you would take too much time. He _summoned_ me to do the job." Jehuel spat out the words. Dean cracked his eyes open again. Okay, add Jehuel to the down side of the list.

"Whoa. Dude. Pull that jumbo-size stick outta your ass, why don't you?" He knew, as soon as he said it, that it was a mistake. Jehuel's wings twitched, his eyes blazed, his copper and mahogany hair moved in the breeze from his wings, and his hook nose and sharp chin just emphasized his hawkish look.

"You seem to forget, _mortal_ ," he spat, "that the sole reason I aided you lot of abominations was to rid the world of Lucifer." He looked around the room with a haughty gaze. Dean was relieved to get those fiery eyes away from him, then flinched as they returned to pinning him to the cot like a bug. "I see Castiel, free of that taint, not that it means much. But..." He sniffed the air, as if smelling something rotten. "Lucifer is still walking the earth, this time using your own brother as a vessel. The brother who was bred and born to _be_ his vessel." He leaned down, arms braced on either side of the cot, so his face was mere inches from Dean's. His spread wings blocked Dean's view of the common room, and made him feel trapped. "So tell me, Dean Winchester. Just what have you accomplished?"

Dean pressed his head back into his pillow and sweated. "Um. Uh. We got rid of The Darkness," he pointed out.

Jehuel stared at him through narrowed eyes for what seemed an eternity. After a long silence, he dipped his head in a nod. "Yes. You have done that much, and the world thanks you. But in its place we now have my older brother, armed with a Hand of God." Not encouraging.

"And, uh, we have the spell - "

"The one for which I bled Grace...?" Jehuel smiled, but it was far from pleasant.

"Uh, yeah, that one." Dean felt like he was losing on all sides here. Time to push back. "Look. When Luci left, we were all pounded flat. We couldn't do the spell then. Crowley got you here to heal us so we could. Don't you think it's time to, say, let me up, get together with them, do the deal, and just get rid of him? Instead of being a prick about it?"

Another long silence from the Angel of Fire, who eyed him with distrust and suspicion, with an added dollop of disbelief in his abilities. Dean seethed, but kept his mouth shut, waiting for the angel's judgment. Finally, Jehuel furled his wings and stepped back. Dean waited a moment, eased his way into a sitting position, and looked around.

Cas and Crowley were seated at the table near his cot. Cas was hunched over his arms, folded on the table, watching Ollie run in her hamster wheel. Crowley was puffing his cheeks out, releasing his breath in short, frustrated huffs, and glaring at Jehuel. Dean gave them a sour look.

"Geez. Help a guy out, why don't you? Like, keep the huffy angel away from me?" Crowley rolled his eyes, continued huffing, and didn't say a word. Cas, after a moment, rolled his eyes, too. "What?!" No answer. He darted a look at Jehuel, who looked down his nose at him in return, then rolled _his_ eyes, and waved at the two.

Crowley, released from the spell, surged to his feet, shook an angry finger at the angel, and began talking. "Never again. I will never again deal with angels. Assholes! Every single one of them! You insult me, toss me in a chair, _bind_ me - ! The King of Hell!" He worked his jaw for a moment, drew in a deep breath, and sat back down, smiling sweetly. He reached for his glass of scotch, regarded it with interest, and toasted Jehuel, his eyes glittering. Jehuel gave him a thin smile in return.

Dean ignored all of this: his concern was Cas. He pulled out a chair beside him, sat down with his elbows leaning on his knees, and looked at Cas from under his eyebrows. Cas kept staring at Ollie. Finally, Dean sighed. "Cas. Talk to me, man."

"Oh, for God's sake, Squirrel! Apologize to him, tell him you love him, and let's get on with the spell!" Dean shot him an irritated look. The sweet smile turned on him, and Crowley raised his glass again. "Just trying to help the course of true love." Jehuel snorted, and cast a scornful glance at Cas.

"Yet more evidence of how far a well-regarded member of the Holy Host has fallen," he sniped.

"Ignore them. Talk."

Cas's vivid blue eyes slid to him. "What's there to say, Dean? I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. And in the end, it accomplished...nothing."

"Whaddaya mean, ' _nothing_ '?! We needed Lucifer, to help defeat Amara. You _got_ us Lucifer."

Cas turned to face him. "And handed Sam over in the process."

Dean paused, thought about it, and snorted. "Naw, man. That's on Sammy." Cas's worried, tired eyes locked on his, as if searching for absolution.

"Indeed it is, angel," Crowley chimed in. "If the moose hadn't been so concerned with me getting my hands on a...heh...Hand of God, we'd be done with this whole messy situation, we wouldn't have Jehuel here staring down his snotty nose at us, and I'd be safely back where I belong, instead of this dump, listening to you two nattering on and on." He glared at the common room. "Domestic bliss. Lovers' misunderstandings. Haughty angels. I want my minions, my throne room, my _power_ , dammit!" His voice had taken on an unmistakable hint of whining. He slammed down his scotch and poured himself another glass.

"Much though I am loathe to find myself in agreement with the abomination, he is right." Jehuel's tone was dry and forced. "Can we please get on with this?" He waved his hand at the gathered ingredients for the spell. "The longer we delay, the more chance that Sam Winchester will let slip that we have it." Dean froze momentarily.

_Damn, that's an ugly thought!_

He clasped a reassuring hand around Cas's forearm. "Cas, buddy, we need to talk about this more - hell, maybe get you a therapist! - but right now, we need you. Here. Not - not sulking, dammit, not wallowing." Harsh. Cas stiffened and threw him a smoldering glare, then folded his lips and nodded once.

"Okay, then!" Dean clapped his hands, rubbed them together. "Let's get this show on the road!"

"Finally!" Crowley muttered. He tossed off the second glass of scotch, and stood up. "I believe we won't be needing that anymore..." He waved at the cot, then snapped his fingers, and it was gone. He grabbed the chalk from the table and held it up. "Who wants to do the honors with the summoning spell?" Dean sighed and wordlessly held out his hand. Crowley dropped the chalk into it. Standing up and walking to where they'd done the spell circle before, he realized that they'd done this so many times, he didn't need a cheat sheet anymore.

The previous spell circle was gone. He leaned down and sketched a new one, quickly inscribing the Enochian sigils. Jehuel sniffed. He eyeballed the angel. "What _now_?!"

Jehuel waved a dismissive hand. "Sloppy."

Dean peered down at his work, hands on his hips, and shrugged. "Eh. It'll get the job done, right?" Jehuel didn't say anything, just emanated disdain. "Okay, then, holy oil..." He swiveled, grabbed the pitcher of oil, and dribbled it around the summoning sigils, ending with a flourish that caught the last dribble on the rim of the pitcher. "Be ready," he grunted, then began the summoning chant.

When he finished, all three held their breath and waited.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summoning of Lucifer goes sideways, and the only way out is a Hail Mary pass by Crowley. But will it work?

They waited.

The silence stretched on until it was uncomfortable. Crowley began rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, jingling something metallic in his pockets. Cas looked worried. Jehuel gave Dean a thin smile, as if to say, "See what this delay has cost us?", but said nothing, just folded his arms. Dean glared down at the summoning circle, checking each sigil multiple times.

Finally, hesitant, Cas said, "Perhaps...perhaps you...did it incor - "

"No way!" Dean snapped. "Every damn one of those sigils is perfect, dammit! And you can bet that if I'd gotten the incantation wrong, Chuckles here - " He waved at Jehuel, who tilted his head back and looked down his nose at him. " - woulda said something. And if not _him_ , then Crowley." Crowley snorted, sourly amused, and nodded. "Nope. Something's wrong."

Another silence descended as they all mulled it over.

The silence was broken by the refrigerator door opening, bottles clinking, the door closing again. Dean spun around, wide-eyed, to face the hall to the kitchen. There came the distinctive hiss of a bottle opening and the metallic clatter of a bottle cap landing in the trash. The homey sounds made his hopes rise. The other three were as transfixed as he was, staring.

Footsteps. Then Sam appeared in the hall doorway, beer bottle and bag of chips in hand, and leaned against the wall there. He swallowed from the bottle, waved it at them, and said a laconic, "Hey."

Dean took a hesitant step forward. "Sam?"

Sam took another drink and sauntered into the room, shaking his head, oozing false sympathy. "Well...yeah...about that? Not so much, Deano." Dean's heart plummeted. Lucifer - because, of course, it was Lucifer, not Sam, stupid of him to get his hopes up - eyed him with curiosity. "So tell me how you're still alive?" Then he waved it off. "Never mind, not really interested." He saluted the three others with the bottle. "Crowley, Cas...and, my God, _Jehuel_?!" His eyes widened with mock surprise. "These pikers managed to rope _you_ in?" He shook his head again, tsking. Strolling past them to the table, Lucifer looked it over, and murmured, "Now, now. This will never do. I think I'll just take _this_..." He plucked the vial of Jehuel's Grace from the table, then tilted his head with a frown as he took in the remaining gathered ingredients. He sighed, snapped his fingers, and they were gone. Then he sat down in one of the chairs, slung a leg up onto the table, and crossed it nonchalantly with the other at the ankles. He finished by dropping the bag of chips in his lap and opening it.

"But - but - " It was Cas. He stopped, didn't finish. Dean still knew what he was going to say. Crowley watched Lucifer with half-lidded eyes, face neutral. Jehuel looked away, nose wrinkled with distaste.

"But - but - but - !" Lucifer mocked him, Sam's long, lean face stretching into an overblown sad clown smile. "What went _wroooong_?" he whined. "Why didn't you appear in the spell _ciiiiircle_?!" His sing-song voice stung. He slouched back in the chair, laced his hands behind his head, and smirked. "Well, boys, it just so happens that, yes, I have to show up when summoned...but there aren't any real rules as to _where_ I show up. Y'know? And y'all are so darned fussy about those circles of holy oil, and, damn, but I _hate_ to be confined these days. All meanings intended." His eyes glittered, and his smile was all teeth. "I'm sure you all understand, right?"

Dean's attention was glued to the vial. Of course, they still had Jehuel, so the vial was moot. And all the other ingredients - well, with two angels on their team, it shouldn't be hard to collect them again.

But...

Lucifer knew. About the spell, their plan.

_Shit!_

Lucifer smiled directly at him. It had been bad enough having him occupy Cas...this was just as bad, maybe even worse, in a different way. That was his own little brother, smiling at him like a wolf. "I can see the wheels turning in your head, Dean. Yeah, I know about it." He shrugged, tapped the side of his head. "It's all in his melon, y'know. What _he_ knows... _I_ know. Mostly. And when someone is trying very, _very_ hard not to think of something..." He shrugged again. "It's kind of like blinking neon lights in the mind. So don't blame my boy Sammy, not his fault."

_'My boy Sammy' - !_

It was too much like the possessive way Azazel had talked about Sam, and the resemblance made something snap in Dean. He took an instinctive, angry step forward, fists clenched at his side.

_Oh, dude. Dude, why the fuck am I doing this?! He just almost killed me, beat me to a bloody pulp!_

Lucifer flipped a lazy hand, and Dean went flying through the air to smash against the wall, knocking off a few of the displayed weapons, and crumpled to the floor, dazed. Sliding a cautious glance at Lucifer, Crowley took a tiny step toward him. But Lucifer had dismissed Dean from his thoughts, carefully opened the bag of chips, and was focused on savoring the chips he popped into his mouth, one by one. He held the bag out invitingly. "Chips? Cas? Jehuel?" He glanced at Crowley. "Bad puppies don't get chips, though." Crowley dipped his head, seeming cowed.

Nobody moved otherwise.

Lucifer shrugged. "Suit yourselves. So why'd y'all summon me? Aside from that spell, of course. Chat? Relive old times?" Not a word. He frowned. "Anything? Bueller? Bueller?"

Crowley said, seemingly out of nowhere, "Let's talk about Gadreel." Cas blinked, Jehuel frowned and made a moue of disgust, and Lucifer cocked an astonished eyebrow.

"Old times, indeed! Why on earth should we talk about him? I mean, really. Old news, stale news, he's been locked away for eons, Dad got angry because he let me into the Garden, blah blah blah."

Dean, however, focused his dazed eyes on Crowley, who gave him a tiny, barely noticeable nod.

 _Gadreel. Sam. Possession._ He shook his head, trying to pull his thoughts together.

"Gadreel's dead," Jehuel said.

Lucifer gaped. " _Dead?!_ "

"Suicided. Bomb. To break _this one_ \- " he nodded at Cas, " - out of prison."

"Prison?! Who put Daddy's fave into prison?!" He held up a hand to stop any reply. "Never mind. Doesn't matter. Sounds like the joint's been jumping while I was locked up - "

Dean nodded back to Crowley. At the signal, Crowley leaned his head back and deep, ugly red smoke came pouring out of his throat, swirled in the air, and slammed into Sam. Sam's body arched back, his jaw swung open, the red smoke poured in, and he slumped in the chair, eyes half-closed.

Jehuel took a step forward. "What - ?!"

Cas frowned, nodded, and said, "Ah. I wondered why he had brought up Gadreel."

Dean struggled up into a sitting position and stared at his brother's body. "I hope to hell this works," he muttered.

Jehuel looked from Cas to Dean and back again. "Gadreel - ? 'This works' - ? What are you two talking about?! What just happened?!" While Cas took pity and began to explain, Dean was obscurely satisfied that the haughty angel was so confused.

* * *

Crowley tugged his suit sleeves down, dusted them off, and turned slowly in place, examining the space around him. He had expected the mindscape to reflect the common room of the Bunker - minus the assorted angels and Dean - like he had seen the last time he possessed Sam Winchester.

He certainly hadn't expected _this_.

Dingy rooms opening off each other. Paint peeling off the walls in strips and sheets. The walls beneath the peeling paint stained with water and mildew. Dim light, the smell of mildew and unnamed things rotting. Floor strewn with debris and garbage. Cracked, broken mirrors on the wall. Indistinct mounds huddled in the corners, which he finally identified as bodies, dried blood flaking on the desiccated skin. Flies buzzed around them. He heard muffled scurrying and squeaks, and guessed at rats or mice.

Gloomy. Sordid. Morbid. A slice of inner-city slum, with an overlay of doom and despair. And ants. Lots of ants, and cockroaches to boot. He absently placed a foot on the nearest roach, twisting hard, listening to the wet crunch as he smashed the brown, glistening carapace.

"Moose?" he called out. He turned again, tamping down dismay. "Sam?" His voice echoed off the walls.

He heard a rustling sound, and turned in that direction. One of the heaps he had dismissed as trash slowly unwound, and a gaunt face stared at him, blue-grey eyes haunted, long hair filthy and straggling, clothes rumpled. There was blood on his hands and clothing, but no sign of injuries.

"Crowley?" the voice croaked. The eyes closed, the body shuddered. "What're _you_ doing here?" He laughed, harsh and bitter and a bit wild. "More torture from Lucifer, I'm guessing..." His eyes opened wide, gleaming with feral hope. "Maybe this time I get to kill _you_. Not people I had thought were friends." He staggered upright and moved forward to loom over Crowley, swaying a bit.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is hunted through Sam's mindscape. Jehuel decides to keep helping. Dean feels a certain urgency to performing the spell to expel Lucifer.

"Get a grip, Samantha. I'm not here for you to kill me, that's for certain. I'm the real deal, not some imaginary puff of moonlight and memories, and if you kill me _here_..." Crowley frowned deeply as he considered the prospect. It wasn't pleasant - he _really_ didn't want to find out what would happen if Sam killed him inside his mindscape. "By the way, where, exactly, _is_ 'here'?" He looked around, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Sam smirked. It wasn't a look Crowley was used to on the moose; it was, in fact, distinctly unpleasant. Crowley took a tiny step backwards. Not in fear, oh, no. Just...a precaution. "Oh, yeah. You weren't one of the inner circle, so you wouldn't recognize it. We're in Detroit. The tumbledown three-flat where I let Lucifer in the first time."

"What is it with you lot? Abandoned warehouses...crappy motel rooms...and even Luci gets in on the game with this hovel?!" Crowley shuddered. "What use is infinite power if you can't get some comfort?" He noticed that Sam had slid forward to close up the small amount of space he'd put between them. Frowning, he stepped back again. Just a step. "Anyway. This is all beside the point. I am here to rescue you."

He didn't really expect fawning thanks - not Moose's style -- but he didn't expect the reaction he got, either. Disheveled as he was, dirty as he was, when Sam threw back his head and laughed bitterly, it wasn't pathetic. It was unnerving. While he was occupied, Crowley backed up a little bit more. This wasn't going the way he had expected.

" _Rescue_ me?! From Lucifer? He thinks you're a bug, you damn fool."

Crowley bridled. "Yes, well, the more fool he, eh? Never underestimate your enemies. Come on, hop to it - where do we find him in this dump?" He looked around again, peering into the dim hall. When he turned back, Sam was looming over him yet again, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a knife crusted with old, dried blood, and smiled, baring his teeth.

"Oh..." he said softly. "I think if you look around the place, you'll find him."

Crowley frowned at the knife and shuffled back. "What have you done to your knife, you _idiot_?! Look at it! It's a _BLOODY MESS!_ " He paused and snickered. "Pun intended. Point being - heh - you don't treat your weapons like that! It dulls the blade, pits it - what kind of Hunter _are_ you?!"

Looking down at the knife, Sam smiled again. He held it balanced between hands, hilt in the palm of one, the point digging into a finger of the other, and spun it thoughtfully. "It still gets the job done." He looked back up at Crowley. "Run, Crowley."

Crowley blinked. With a swift movement, Sam flipped the knife, caught it by the hilt, and held it in an expert grip. "Run, little demon king."

Crowley blinked again, stepped back some more, then bellowed, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?! Have you gone _FRIGGING INSANE?!_ "

Sam smiled again, eyes glittering. "Interesting question." He cocked his head, pursed his lips, and pondered it. "Maybe I have. But you're here, no-one else is, I have a knife, and I _know_ this place, every nook and cranny. A fun little hunt, whaddaya say?" He whispered, "Run."

First, he snapped his fingers to simply translocate. It didn't work. _Damn_ mindscapes, anyway!

Crowley ran.

* * *

 

"You're telling me that Sam Winchester has both an archangel _and_ a demon possessing him?!" Jehuel's voice was strained and incredulous. "And you are expecting that...that _abomination_ to help him escape from Lucifer?" He was stiff with anger, and his copper hair had somehow managed to stand straight up on his head. He looked like a hipster with an attitude. Having Cas be the one explaining things was not helping his outrage.

With that thought, Dean snorted with irritation. "Okay, dude. Y'know what? We've got Cas back. We can use Cas's Grace for the spell to lock Luci up in the hoosegow, so I've got no use for you hanging around, being all huffy. So why don't you take your angelic ass and get the hell out of here if you're not going to help?"

Jehuel gaped at him like a fish. A goldfish, given his coloring. One of those fancy goldfish with the bubble body and the lacy fins - his wings had appeared again. Dean narrowed his eyes and flapped his hands at him. "Go on, shoo! Get outta here! We don't need you after all."

"What...kind...of 'help' do you require now?" he asked stiffly.

_Holy shit. I'm insulting him, practically throwing him out, and he still wants to help?! Jeez._

Chewing his lips, Dean thought. Finally, he said, "Okay, then. You wanna help? We need all those ingredients, again. _Stat_!" Jehuel gave him a blank look. He sighed. "Really, _really_ quickly. We gotta do this while Crowley's in there distracting Lucifer." As if it were a signal, Sam began to twitch and moan. Dean shot him a frantic look. "Son of a bitch. What's Crowley up to?! He's supposed to be helping Sam _fight_ , dammit!"

Cas tilted his head and looked at Sam, then looked at Jehuel. "I believe, if we work together, we can at least keep him subdued...?"

Jehuel returned his look, then gave him a stiff nod. "Very well." As one, they each lifted a hand, and streams of light flared. Dean squinted against the brightness. It was over quickly, and Sam stopped twitching.

"Okay, guys, go, _go_!" He flapped his hands again, including Cas in the gesture. The two angels vanished, and Dean was left alone.

* * *

 

Down a hallway. Up some stairs. Jiggle a doorknob - open, good. Crowley darted into the room beyond, panting, closing the door with a quiet click. Not being able to use his demon powers was a difficulty. He silently damned mindscapes again, then held his breath and put his ear to the door. Slow, quiet steps were coming up the stairs, making them creak.

_Bollocks!_

He twisted around to scan the room he had entered. More debris, more smell, more rats and cockroaches.

 _There!_ Another door. He tiptoed across the room, eased that door open, and slid behind it, easing it closed again and leaning against it.

_This is so damned undignified. The King of Hell, scurrying to hide like a damned mouse! This is what I get, trying to bloody help the damn Winchesters!_

He could just smoke out again. Frowning at the thought, he nibbled his lips, considering. He assumed that Dean and his angel cohorts were working on the spell again, but he had no way of knowing how far along they had gotten. Best to stick around, then.

_Dammit, he was supposed to welcome me with frigging open arms! I'm here to RESCUE him!_

It stung, he had to admit. All these years, being the loyal opposition. Helping them! Trading favors! Give a little, get a little. And Sam Self-Righteous (and quite possibly insane right now) Winchester had to get all vengeful on him, right when it was least convenient! He frowned darkly at the dim-lit room, ruminating on the thoughts, enjoying the peace and quiet, relaxing just a bit.

Then the door he was leaning on slammed open, catapulting him, stumbling, into the room. He staggered, caught himself, twisted around. Sam was standing in the doorway, shaking his head, tsking.

"Oh, Crowley. You are a sad disappointment. All those years of just teleporting yourself...you've forgotten the basics."

"What _are_ you yammering on about?" Crowley snarled.

Sam pointed at the floor with the tip of his knife, not saying a word. Crowley glanced down and felt like banging his head against the wall.

Footprints. In the dust. Clean, clear footprints, leading Sam straight to him. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! He growled wordlessly. Sam grinned, almost a normal grin for him. Just enough so Crowley began to let down his guard, but then, moving quickly, Sam stepped forward, strong-armed him into the wall, and held him pinned there with an iron arm across his upper chest. The filthy knife was now pointed at his throat, pricking the skin. Crowley felt a trickle of blood slipping downward.

The knife moved slowly, trailing delicately across his throat, leaving a line of stinging fire behind it. Baring his teeth, Sam pressed into the arm that imprisoned Crowley, leaning in, whispering in an intimate voice, "You have no idea just how _very_ much I've wanted to do this. For years. You are a slimy, evil, murdering son of a bitch who deserves a long, slow, painful death." Crowley gritted his teeth.

_Time to exit this scene, I think._

He mentally prepared to smoke out, but then what Sam was saying filtered through. "You deserve all that and more. But. You say you're here to fight Lucifer," he murmured, barely audible. "I can't do it alone; he has his hooks too deep in me. So...what's the plan?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Sam are caught by Lucifer. Dean, Cas, and Jehuel race against time to re-gather the ingredients for the spell.

"Plan?!" Crowley hissed to Sam. "I'm supposed to have a _plan_?! If things had gone the way they were _supposed_ to, you and I would have gotten the drop on the devil, be fighting him right now, trying to boot him out. Asshole. I don't have a plan, now."

"No plan?! Aw! What a waste of your precious time then, right, puppy?"

Sam and Crowley stiffened, eyes locked, then Sam eased around to look behind him and Crowley craned his neck to look around Sam's bulk. Lounging against the door jamb, Lucifer - in the likeness of Nick - was examining his fingernails.

_Bollocks._

"So sorry, Moose, but I think I have to depart," he murmured, then tilted his head back to smoke out. Since he was in a mindscape, he didn't really need to; he could just melt into smoke and flit away, but... _old habits die hard_ , he thought.

He realized that he shouldn't have time to think. He should already be back in the real world by now. Come to think of it, he probably looked ridiculous, head back, jaw cranked open, eyes now rolling toward Lucifer. Lucifer, who just kept looking at his fingernails, but now with the tiniest of smirks flickering across his lips. Lucifer, an even bigger asshole than Sam was...which wasn't hard, because try as he might, he didn't really think Sam was an asshole at all, just a self-righteous prig with a stick up his ass.

He realized his thoughts were wandering. Not to avoid panic. No, just...wandering. He slammed his mouth shut, tilted his head back down, and slid his eyes back toward Sam, who was looking at him with a quizzical expression.

"I thought you said you had to...'depart'?" he whispered. Crowley scowled at him.

"Oh, puppy's not going anywhere," Lucifer said cheerily. He waved a hand, and Crowley slid sideways along the wall, then, when his body was clear of Sam's, flung across the room to smash face first into the moldiest spot on the wall. He couldn't move after that, except he could turn his head. Cheek to mold was definitely better than nose and mouth. He watched Lucifer saunter over to Sam, slide a caressing hand around his neck, pull his head down, and kiss him. It was passionate and possessive, and though Sam struggled at first, darting a pleading look towards Crowley, after a moment his body relaxed and melted into Nick's, and he dropped the knife.

Crowley closed his eyes with a faint sigh. It wasn't fair: that firm ass, those long legs, that hair! Oh, well. He never had a chance with Moose and knew it, so just daydreamed. Now Dean? That was another story.

He opened his eyes again in time to see Lucifer step back. Sam let out a moan, and Lucifer crooned, "Now, Sammy. Remember how good it feels to give in, to let yourself go. No rules here. Just do what you want." He stepped forward again and cupped Sam's cheek. "You were just about there, and you went and pulled yourself back from the edge...no, no, no, that's not what you do. You hate him. I want you to take that knife again, and finish what you started. Take your time. Enjoy. Anything you want...and you know how much you want it. Just like with the others."

Swaying, Sam looked down at the knife on the floor, then dropped to one knee. A shaking hand picked the knife up, and the sound that emerged from him was half despairing sob, half satisfied growl. He glanced across at Crowley, eyes glittering and haunted at the same time. Part of Crowley watched with clinical interest. This was a master at mind-fuckery at work: yank poor Moose back and forth between kindness, physical passion, and cruelty, leaving him off balance as to what to expect. Lure him with anger. Let him indulge the worst side of himself, sate it with vengeance and blood. This was how you ripped a human soul apart, tore it down, built it back up into the shape you wanted.

The other part of Crowley watched Sam stand up again and advance toward him with cat-like grace, knife at the ready, and thought, _Screw masterful mind-fuckery! Get me the hell out of here!_

* * *

 

Dean paced back and forth, darting nervous looks at Sam's unconscious form sprawled on the floor. He looked like...well, Sam, like this, like he was sleeping. No Lucifer, just his baby brother. But little bro was stuck in that head with Lucifer, and Luci had a lot of experience with what made Sam tick. It was an unhappy thought: when you know what makes someone tick, you know how to hurt them.

Cas and Jehuel had popped in a few times, dropping ingredients on the table, then vanishing again; no time was wasted on words. Before they left for the first time, Jehuel had plucked one of his own feathers, wincing slightly and glaring at Dean and Cas as if daring them to say anything.

_Gotta admit, he may be a dick, but at least he has a certain amount of style._

He felt like time was ticking away, that if they didn't get the ingredients together soon, perform that damned spell, something dire was going to happen. What, he had no idea. It was probably just stupid nerves. Whatever it was, though, it left him feeling antsy.

_Well, we can't keep Luci knocked out forever, he's gonna wake up sooner or later, and wake up pissed. That's definitely one dire thing!_

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he glanced around the common room, run a hand around the back of his head, fidgeted, then pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. A clatter on the table made him jump and re-open his eyes: Cas had just dropped a cage with three baby mice. Now he looked at them with sad eyes. Dean rolled his own.

"Dammit, Cas, no time! You can feel sorry about the mice _after_ we've done the spell!"

Cas threw him a reproachful look, then, with the sound of ruffling wings, vanished again.

_Hurry, hurry, hurry!_

Jehuel reappeared, dropped a bag of grains of paradise with the other ingredients, and stood there staring at them with a distracted frown.

"What?! Don't just stand there! Off you go, go get the next thing!"

Jehuel turned and looked down his nose at him. "There is nothing more on my list, and I believe Castiel has just one more item."

Dean was taken aback by this pronouncement. Stepping forward to the table, he ran his eyes over the items gathered there, ticking them off against his mental list. Sure enough, Jehuel was right - only chaga was left, and then they'd be ready. He blinked, and re-ran his tally just to be sure. Again, the conclusion was that the chaga was all they needed. He felt himself relaxing, the ongoing mental shout to hurry starting to quiet.

The soft flutter of wings sounded, and Cas stood by the table again. He carefully placed the chaga root with the rest, took a step back, and sighed. His vivid blue eyes looked over at Dean, and he smiled his grave smile. Looking at that familiar smile, the last knot of tension left his body. Cas. It really was Cas. Whole and himself. Whatever else, he had that. "I believe we have everything we need now, Dean."

Dean popped his hands together with a loud pop. "Great. Awesome. Let's get started." Reaching for the chalk, he was startled to find Jehuel's hand there before his. "What?!"

Jehuel merely looked at him.

"What?!" he repeated.

The Angel of Fire whirled around, stepped to the empty floor space, crouched down, and began sketching in the spell circle. "If ever there was a time for precise work, this is it," he said with a dry voice.

"Hey! My spell circles are perfectly fine!" Dean objected, injured at the angel's lack of faith in his drawing abilities. Jehuel said nothing, just kept on sketching, circles, straight lines and curving sigils taking swift, elegant form under his hands. Cas's lips twitched in a faint smile, quickly suppressed. Dean watched, mentally grumbling, but finally decided that, like it or not, Jehuel was both fast and precise. When the angel was finished, he crouched a moment longer, scanning his work. Finally, with a nod, he stood up, dusting his hands and raising a small cloud of chalk dust.

Scooping up the silver casting bowl in one hand, Dean grabbed a few ingredients and crouched down by the chalk circle. In went the feather, the grains of paradise, chaga, raven skull. Cas silently handed him more, and he added them. Finally everything was there but the mice and the angel Grace.

Dean eyed the cage of faintly squeaking mice. Cas, biting his lips, looked at it, too. Jehuel quirked an eyebrow at them both. "Really," he sniffed. "Once, Castiel would have smote an entire army of humans without a second thought. Now it appears that killing three tiny mice is beyond him." He held out his hand, twisted it, and all three mice dropped to the floor of the cage, squeaks silenced. He waved his hand, and the three tiny bodies appeared on the top of the ingredients in the silver bowl. Dean looked down at them, feeling the slightest bit queasy, which was silly. He'd killed lots of things before; why flinch at this? It was just that...they looked so tiny. And soft. And furry.

Cas sighed. "It is hard to explain, brother. Nonetheless, thank you." he dropped his angel blade from its sheath into his hand with a quick, soft, metallic snick, and quickly sliced his palm with it. He held it over the bowl, and a mix of blood and Grace dripped in to cover the varied spell makings. He ran an absent finger over the cut, then leaned over the table, pulling the papers with the spell translation into his newly healed hand. Crouching down beside Dean, he handed them over.

Dean peered down at Crowley's neat writing. English. Not Latin, or Greek, or Enochian. "It's in English...is that a problem?" Glancing up, he saw Jehuel rolling his eyes, and squashed his rising irritation.

_Goddamned know-it-all!_

Cas sighed. "With spells...it is the words, capturing the intent. In fact, having English translations might be best for all spells, as you can..." He paused, moving his hands, struggling for words. "Knowing exactly what the spell is saying can...focus your intent even better. Latin, Greek, Enochian - powerful languages, yes, filled with history, but - "

"Can we please save the lecture on the theory of spellwork for later?" Jehuel asked acidly. "We need to perform the spell quickly." Interesting. Jehuel seemed to have the same sense of urgency.

Dean drew in a breath. As Cas clasped a warm hand on his forearm for reassurance, he began reciting the spell.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean performs the spell.

Sam placed his forearm on the wall next to Crowley's head and leaned against it so he was uncomfortably close. Crowley plastered a neutral expression on his face and turned his head to look at him. Sam smiled, a tiny, fleeting smile, then his face settled into a neutral expression to match Crowley's. He felt his skin twitch; this was not Crazy Sam, nor was it Angry Sam. This was a very calm, thoughtful, interested Sam. With a knife. And permission to let himself go.

"Now, Moose - you don't need to do this!"

"I know." Sam wiggled the knife blade in the air between their heads. "I don't _need_ to. I do, however, _want_ to. Very much." He smiled, and it was all teeth, and Crowley felt a hollow in the pit of his stomach. The knife moved downward, and a line of flame shot through his belly as the knife sliced it open, demon essence sputtering in the dank silence of the room. He set his teeth, determined to not flinch, cringe, whimper.

"That's for turning Dean into a demon," Sam murmured. He shifted a bit, then sank the knife hilt-deep in Crowley's shoulder. This time, it burned like he had been stabbed with an icicle, the skin around it freezing and twitching in shock.

"That's for Sarah..."

Sam held the knife in front of Crowley's right eye, and another faint smile flitted across his lips. He inched it forward, until Crowley was frozen in place with the tip just touching the surface of the eye. He struggled to keep the eye wide open to avoid the lid slicing itself on the knife. Sam hummed for a second, lifting an eyebrow, then shrugged and plunged it in. Despite himself, he winced and screamed.

"That's for corrupting Cas..."

Crowley thought, with a shudder, that there were a lot of names that Sam seemed to have stored up.

* * *

 

As Dean began reading the spell aloud, two things happened. First, even as he read the words off the page, part of himself seemed to swell, overflow his head, float away. It was similar to the way he had felt around Amara, but more intense. Second, the common room of the Bunker was swept by a breeze, fluttering through his hair, Cas's, Jehuel's. He kept going, mentally registering the effects and shrugging them off.

The breeze morphed into a gentle wind. His feeling of floating was joined by the sensation of the common room spinning around him, making him queasy. Still, he kept reciting the spell.

The gentle wind stiffened, grew stronger; the pages of the spell flapped so much that he had to use his other hand to hold them open. He staggered as he was pushed back by the wind, and he glanced at Cas with a pleading look. Cas nodded, stepped forward, and gripped his arm, anchoring him and holding him steady. By now, he couldn't hear his own voice, as the wind ripped it away.

Pausing for a breath in the midst of his recital, he mouthed to Cas, "What the hell's going on?!" He didn't dare actually say it, for fear of ruining the spell. He _hoped_ he had just mouthed it; the spinning head sensation was by now so extreme that he could only guess as to what he was actually doing. Interestingly, the spell translation clutched in his hands was perfectly clear and steady in his vision. It was almost as if everything was spinning around it, rather than Dean.

Cas leaned forward so his mouth was next to Dean's ear. "If this spell truly puts Lucifer back into the Cage, it is God-level magic, and has side-effects," he shouted. Another gust of wind almost tore Dean away from him; he quickly latched on with both hands, and jerked his head at Jehuel, who stepped up beside Dean on the other side and held him with iron hands. Jehuel's eyes were wide.

In the midst of the wind, Sam's body lay on the floor, untouched. But in the uproar, with the world spinning around him, Dean could see a faint cloud of celestial blue forming around Sam. As he fought to continue the words of the spell - thank God he was near the end! - the cloud deepened in color, glowing from within, and sparks flared.

He read the last words - "Make it so!" - in a croak, unable to hear it, and inwardly laughed hysterically as he imagined Captain Picard standing here in his place. A bolt of lightning slammed into the blue cloud, which exploded outward in a blinding display, then vanished.

Then all was silent.

Jehuel and Cas released their hold on him. Dean's ears rang and there was a huge spot floating before his eyes. Cas was saying something, but he couldn't hear it. Cas frowned slightly, then laid a gentle pair of fingers on Dean's forehead. The familiar warmth of Cas's healing energy flowed through his body; the spot disappeared, and the ringing in his ears softened, then went away.

" - worked, but we need to wake Sam to be sure."

Dean looked down at Sam and rubbed the back of his neck. Shrugging, he said, "Well. No time like the present." He dropped down beside Sam and shook him gently. "Sam. Hey, Sammy. Wakie wakie. C'mon, dude." Sam shifted and muttered, and Dean shook him harder. "Hey, sunshine! I've put itching powder in your undies, just thought y'oughtta know." Sam's eyes flew open, an irritated frown spreading across his face. He started to say something, then his head tilted back, his jaw dropped wide open, and deep red smoke came pouring out of him, swirled around the room once, then dove down the throat of Crowley's body.

Sam shuddered and spat. "Gah! Ugh!" He shook an angry finger up at his brother. "I swear, Dean, if you've _really_ put itching powder - "

"Naw, man. You just weren't waking up, so I thought that'd do the trick." Sam glared at him, and he grinned. "It's you, right? Just you? No Lucifer?" Sam jerked his head in a nod, and Dean's grin widened. He clapped his brother's shoulder and started levering him up to his feet. "That was a helluva spell, dude. Wind, lightning, my head spinning like that girl in the Exorcist, the works..."

In the background, he saw Crowley stagger up, then totter over to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out a glass with a shaking hand, then used both hands to pour his favorite expensive scotch. Without a word, he slugged it down, dropped the glass with a clunk onto the liquor cabinet, and sloshed more scotch into it.

Dean tucked an arm around Sam, guided him over to a chair, and helped him settle in. Sam leaned forward, elbows on knees, and ran his hands through his hair over and over again. Crowley lurched over to the table, scotch bottle in one hand, glass in the other, pulled out another chair, and dropped into it with a grunt.

Beaming, Dean looked from Sam to Crowley and back. "Damn. Y'all did a fine job of distracting Lucifer! Hard fight, hunh?" Crowley's jaw worked, and he looked at Sam with an expressionless face. Sam glanced up, then dropped his head in his hands. Neither of them said anything. Dean, absorbed in his total relief, didn't notice. He swung over to the liquor cabinet, grabbed two more glasses, and came back to the table, snatching Crowley's bottle and filling them. He pushed one to Sam, and raised the other in a half-hearted toast. "Guys, we did it. Cas, Jahuel, I'd get you glasses, too, but you don't drink, right?" he sang out. Jehuel sniffed, walked to the liquor cabinet, and got himself a glass.

"Not every angel is as...upright...as Castiel." He poured himself some scotch and raised his glass, too. "An impressive achievement. The Darkness gone. Lucifer back in the Cage. All of us still alive and unharmed." Crowley's eyes flicked up to him, then focused back on his own glass. "I can see..." Jehuel paused and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I can see why our Father and Castiel put their faith in you."

"Whoa. Don't choke on the compliment, dude!" Dean snarked. He sipped at the scotch and smiled widely at everyone.

Sam gulped his scotch. Dean, recently introduced to the wonders of sipping expensive liquor, frowned at him with disapproval. Sam stood up, swaying, and muttered, "Yeah. Right. Look, I think I'm going to go to bed." Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Okay. You do that. Things have been kinda tough for you. You go rest, we'll catch up in the morning." He realized that he was sort of babbling.

_Lucifer in his head. Playing with him. Then a fight. Then boom! All back to normal! Must suck. God, I'm glad I've got them both back._

Sam looked at him without expression for a moment, then a tiny, lopsided smile flickered on his lips. He turned and shuffled out of the common room. Crowley watched warily as he left. After a moment, he stood up, too, brushing a speck of dust off his suit jacket, then tugging his shirt cuffs down. "Well. I do believe I have a Hell of a lot - heh! - of work ahead of me, putting Hell back in order. So I think I will be off, myself. Thank you for your generous hospitality and help, et cetera, et cetera." He paused, examining the fingernails of one hand. "Squirrel, a warning. Keep an eye on the moose." He looked up and locked eyes with Dean. "Lucifer is a tricky bastard and can...do a lot of damage in a very short time." He mimed an air kiss at Cas, then Jehuel. "Love you both!" Then he vanished.

Dean frowned, then shrugged, turning back to the angels. "Always has to have the last word. So, guys, what do angels do to celebrate?"

Jehuel looked down his nose at him. "In my case, by returning to Heaven forthwith. My mild approval aside, I have had enough of the company of humans and demons." He didn't bother to stand up; with a rush of fluttering wings, he disappeared, too.

Dean looked around quizzically, eyebrows raised. "What? I have B.O. or something?" Cas started to say something, and Dean held up a hand to stop him. "No, no, don't go all literal on me, buddy - was just wondering why our celebration turned into everyone running away, is all."

Cas smiled gently at him. "It has been a difficult time. I believe we are all exhausted, in our own ways. Including - " He pointed a finger at Dean. "You. I suggest you go to bed, as well, and get some well-deserved sleep." Dean returned his fond smile.

"Mother hen. Damn, I am glad you're all right." He stood up, stretched, face cracking in a wide yawn, and sauntered to the hallway. Then he turned back. "You _are_ all right, right? Not hiding anything?"

"No, Dean. I am not fully recovered, but I am well on my way."

Dean stood there for a moment, frowning down at his feet. "Look. I...uh...you...uh. Well." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cas, buddy. Don't ever feel like we don't appreciate you. That we take you for granted. We - we love you, man. You're family, whether you're all powered up or not. We may not say it enough, or show it, but...uh...it's there. So...uh...there." He spun around and walked out.

_Damn. I'm just Mr. Eloquence, aren't I? But I don't know how to say how I really feel. And...face it, dude, you're afraid of scaring him off. Lots of good friendships can go all to hell if you do. Not gonna risk that._

He stumbled down the hallway, realizing just how tired he was.

_I wonder what that thing with Sammy was, just before he left? I swear I've seen that weird expression on him before...Eh. It'll wait. He was tired. I'm tired._

He opened the door to his room, walked to his bed, fell face down with his arms sprawling across the bed, and was fast asleep in an instant.

The End

 

**A/N:  All done!  Let me know what you thought!**


End file.
